Burning Tiger
by liv.einziger
Summary: A new lead has come up on the Red John case and the CBI team might be closer than ever to catching the killer. That will make Patrick Jane face and question his plans of revenge and of what he will do after it. Alternating Lisbon and Jane POV. Jisbon.
1. Unreconciled

1. UNRECONCILED

Lisbon stopped at the door, holding a folder, trying to plan what she would say and do. Then, she figured that with Patrick Jane, no planning stood for very long. With a sigh, she knocked on the door and opened it without expecting an answer. Jane was sitting on the floor and quickly turned his head around.

"Morning," he said with a cheerful smile, standing up. He focused on the folder in her hand. Lisbon noticed he had made that hidden, abandoned room into some sort of motel room. Three-piece suits were hung everywhere, blankets were messy on top of the improvised bed and suitcases lay around.

"You been actually living here?" she asked, unable to contain it.

Jane had no time to talk about that. He had waited long enough. "What's in the folder," he said, straightforward, "is it the same thing you've been hiding from me the last couple days?"

"Hiding from you?" she retorted, trying to sound natural. "Don't be silly."

"You're silly," he smiled widely, "if you think you can hide something from me. I couldn't find out what it was, of course, you've been improving your abilities in hiding things, due to my influence, probably, but don't forget that I can always tell when you're lying. No exception. So I _knew_ something was up."

He became serious, taking a step towards her. He could feel his heart racing; he was ready to read her reaction to his next question. "Is it Red John?"

"Have you noticed" she started, avoiding his gaze and walking around so as to hide her hard-to-fake traits which would certainly give her away, "that I'm the one who walked in here with an intention of talking to you, and you're the one asking questions?" She turned to face him again. "And yet _I_ am the control freak."

Her reaction screamed "yes", and he had no time for her running around.

"Come on, Lisbon," he approached her again, speaking in his low, aggravated tone, which he used for talking about Red John and what the serial killer had done to his life, "you've been sitting on this for too long, I need to know, _now_."

She took a deep breath, in order to concentrate. His demand was certainly appealing, and he knew exactly how to get what he wanted, especially from her, but there was something she wanted to talk to him about first.

"Since you've mentioned Red John," she started, trying to keep her tone casual, "have you decided yet what it is you're going to do _after_ Red John?"

He was intrigued. "What do you mean, _after_?"

"I mean _after_ it's over," she swallowed before continuing. "Eventually, we are going to find him–"

"And I'll kill him," he interrupted sharply, still impatient.

"Doesn't matter, we are going to find him and this is going to end," she went on, waving her hands so as to make him bear with her. "What are you going to do after that happens? Have you figured out any plans yet?"

He smiled a sad smile. "Maybe I don't have to."

She cocked her head to the side, trying to understand the implication. His sad smile got wider. Not that he found any of it funny; it was simply so clear to him, he sort of expected her to understand that.

"You know I will do whatever it takes to kill him. With no regards for my own life, I mean."

She wanted to hit him, hard, and she had to stiffen in order not to do that. "Shut up," escaped her involuntarily; she had expected him to say that, but not her reaction, "we won't consider that as a possibility, you hear me?" She approached him with her hand in front of her, trying to impose her will.

Jane simply smiled, with amusement. How could she be so surprised? He also felt sad about her reaction. He wished she didn't care whether he was dead or alive, because _he_ certainly didn't. As long as Red John died first. He thought he'd make that clear to her, right now, if she didn't already know.

"There's no _we_ when it comes to Red John," he started, laying a hand on her shoulder. "I appreciate that you want to help me, and I appreciate your position as a law enforcement officer who's in charge of the case, but you must know that, when we find him, I _will_ find a way to outsmart you and get to him first." His smile disappeared, and his voice took on a dark tone that really scared her as he said his next words, almost as low as a whisper. "In the end, it will be just me and him."

They stared at each other in silence for a while. Then, Jane smiled again, tightening his grip warmly on Lisbon's shoulder as he said "I wouldn't want to risk your life, or anyone else's. Only mine." He was being completely sincere, for a change.

Lisbon took a step back, letting his hand fall from her shoulder and looking at him as though he was a stranger. Defiantly, though, she said, "we'll see who will outsmart who."

"We'll see," he said, with a smile.

"All of that, however," she said, taking a deep breath, "is beside the point, because you never answered the question I came here to ask you in the first place."

"My plans for after Red John," he repeated, with that same smile still glued to his face. His eyes shifted to the folder again.

"Yes." She waited for him to say something.

Jane looked down, putting his hands in his pockets, pursing his lips thoughtfully, and shook his head. "I haven't thought about that yet," was his honest answer. Killing Red John was his sole objective in life. He had never really thought about what he would do after that.

Lisbon's expression was blank, and that's how she still felt after what Jane had just told her – certainly not something she had planned on hearing. She reminded herself how she knew that no planning ever worked out the way it was supposed to when it had Jane involved.

"That's my honest answer," he insisted, serious. "Now will you show me the folder?"

Lisbon sighed, with the sour taste of a lost battle in the back of her throat. "Only if you promise to start thinking about those plans."

His brow furrowed, and that aggravated expression and voice tone came back. "What do you mean?" His heart was racing again.

"I mean you're going to need those plans soon. Very soon."


	2. A Lead

_**Thank you so much to everyone who read, favorited and reviewed so far. I'm new to the site and this is my first**__** Mentalist fic, so it's very rewarding and stimulating to get positive feedback. Something else: English is not my first language, so please let me know when you find something that doesn't make any sense… **_

_**The second chapter was almost ready when I uploaded the first, but I still have nothing on the third, so it might take a little longer than it took this time until I**__** update again… Or not, because I'm really excited about writing this!**_

_**I hope you**__** enjoy. Please review!**_

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2. A LEAD

It felt like folding to a small stubborn kid's wishes, but the expression on Patrick Jane's face when Lisbon showed him the contents of the folder she had in her hands wasn't the happiness of a child encountering a box full of candies; the blending of anger, hatred, sadness, and a twisted kind of satisfaction that she saw in his eyes were actually making her sick.

The truth is that these aren't emotions you want to see playing their tricks on the people you care about. And she cared about Jane. It had been long ago since she had given up denying that. And it's because she cared about him that she had kept the information from him until she was sure.

"It's small," she warned, "but it's a clue. And if it plays out, it might actually lead us to him."

Jane read through the documents he had in front of him; they were records of a cable TV company, showing requests for equipment installations or repairs on several addresses. All services had been performed by the same professional, a woman named Andrea Weiland. He was frustrated; with all that secrecy, he had expected a breakthrough.

"What does it have to do with Red John?" he asked without hiding his disappointment.

Lisbon waved her finger in the documents' direction. "Take a look at the names of the customers."

He sifted through the records and looked up at her again, with that same blending of feelings back to his features. "His victims…"

"Yes." She sighed. "Except… your family." Jane felt a sudden, acute pain in his chest at the mention of his family. Not his address, of course, because the murder of his family didn't follow the pattern. It had been a special job. There was a moment of silence before Lisbon continued. "And if you look at the dates of the requests, you'll see they're in a time span of around a month before each crime."

"But… who's this woman?" His tone conveyed urgency. He was dying to know where that would lead them and what they were going to do about it, as well as _when_.

"The name's bogus, an alias. And this person, whatever her name really is, no longer works for the company."

Of course not, Jane thought. It could never be that easy. But it still was a new clue.

"Do you think that she provided him information on the victims?" he asked.

"That's our line of thought, yes. Like I said, it's small, but it's a damn weird coincidence that the same person has performed services in the victims' homes around a month before Red John got to them. Don't you think?"

Jane nodded, strange emotions mixing up inside him at that moment. He looked down at the folder's contents again, wondering if it was this time that they would find him. That _he_ would find him.

"Why hadn't this been looked at before?" he asked, out of curiosity.

"Nobody knew about this," Lisbon answered. "These records are exclusive to the company and no one had thought of looking into people who had been at the residences a month before the murders. But we've been broadening all lines of investigation, since we lack any new evidence… Then this came up and sounded very weird."

Normally, Lisbon would be excited about getting a clue on such a hard case to crack as Red John was, but she couldn't help but feel weird at the same time, for Jane's sake. That weird mixture of feelings that took him over when it came to Red John scared her more than ever now, after he promised to find a way to be alone with the killer and end his life on his own. She planned to do everything she could to stop him, but she knew it was practically impossible to win against him.

She considered taking him off the case, but she recognized it wasn't fair. The only reason why he had signed on with the CBI was this case, and more than that, it was his only purpose in life, what got him out of bed in the morning. Also, if they wanted to find Red John – and that should be her priority over Jane, she kept reminding herself –, they could really use Jane's abilities. Lisbon knew, though, that she had to find a way to stop him when the time came to go after Red John. When they got to the point where he would shut the team out and continue by himself. That couldn't happen.

"We have an address for this woman," Lisbon said, "and we're going there to check it out. We believe we won't find her, but it's worth looking anyway. We're also going to talk to her former employees and colleagues, gather whatever information we can use to get to her."

In a swift movement, Jane stood up. So it was time to go, instead of sitting in that room, thinking, and waiting. It was finally time to do something. "When do we leave?"

* * *

There wasn't much talk inside the car; a weird tension circled the Serious Crimes Unit since the clue had come up and especially now, when it was time to act on it. Lisbon traveled with Cho and Jane, while Rigsby and Van Pelt traveled in another car. Cho was driving, which was good, because Lisbon, sitting next to him, felt too nervous to drive herself. Jane sat on the back, alone, looking out the window, but he wasn't paying attention to the sights.

He kept imagining it – and he couldn't know how it would be, of course, but he did anyway –, the moment when he would be face to face with Red John. He had carefully hidden the small box among his clothes in his overnight bag, the small box which kept a gun he had gotten from a man who, like him, sought revenge. A man who had told him it was worthwhile. He imagined himself holding that gun, pointing it to the man who had destroyed him. That moment was all he lived for.

He shifted his look from the fields outside the window to the front seat, where Lisbon sat, her body in an alert position, like she was ready to act if anything unexpected happened. It was clear that she was nervous, and he knew how big a part he had had in getting her into this state. He wished she would let him do what he had to. He didn't want to think about the moment when they would clash. He wondered if that moment was close.

The truth is that Lisbon was the closest thing he had to a friend, and, even though he didn't like to admit it, even to himself, he cared deeply about her. He didn't want to, but he did. And he didn't want her to care about him either, but, apparently, she did. It was confusing, because, at the same time that he wanted her to know that he was there for her, he'd rather she would have only reasons to despise him instead of caring about him, otherwise she might risk her life for him. Because that was so Lisbon. To care about everybody else before herself.

Jane rarely spent time thinking about his feelings, and he deliberately avoided analyzing his feelings for Lisbon, for thinking about her might take his focus away from his goal. Whenever he did, however, like at that moment, he always found reasonable arguments to convince himself that he felt nothing special for her. He knew he took great pleasure in irritating her, but he certainly took pleasure in irritating many people. He knew that she was a beautiful woman and that he was attracted to her, but he couldn't think why any other man wouldn't feel the slightest hint of attraction for her. He knew he wouldn't ever want to see her harmed in any way, but he wouldn't want to see anybody else from the team or any other innocent lives harmed, for that matter.

Deciding to think about something else, Jane wondered about what she had asked him, about after Red John. He thought that maybe the reason why he couldn't imagine anything for his life after Red John was that there would necessarily have to be a new life. He had never conceded himself the right of thinking in those terms; a new life, for himself. But the truth is that Red John was the last thing he was going to do in this life that he was living.

His life was irreparably over. He had had a wife and a child, he had been a conman disguised as a psychic. Those things belonged to a life that no longer existed. A life whose last chapter was his revenge against Red John, the man who had destroyed everything he once had. He was still living that chapter, and he didn't want to involve anybody else but himself in it.

He knew there was no chance of there being another chapter after that one. Nothing remained the same. He was not the same man anymore, and everything else had changed as well. Anything that could happen after Red John belonged to a new story. And that was why Jane wouldn't have allowed himself to think about that. A new story, for himself? He had no right.

After around one hour, they arrived at the cable TV company's headquarters, while Rigsby and Van Pelt had been assigned to go check Andrea Weiland's address. They entered the building, showing their badges and asking questions. Half of Lisbon's attention was on Jane, but she kept telling herself that he shouldn't be her main concern.

The first person to be interrogated was George Arvin, head of the human resources department, who claimed to have interviewed Andrea Weiland when she applied for the job.

"At the time, her information checked out," he started, as though intimidated by the agents. "I mean, we don't run background checks, we only look at resumés, sometimes letters of recommendation, and this woman had great letters of recommendation."

"Who wrote those letters?" Cho asked.

"Her former employees. I still have a copy of her resumé in my records somewhere, and also the letters, if you want to take a look."

"That'd be helpful," Lisbon said, a hint of impatience.

"What about the interview," interrupted Jane, "what did you think of her?"

"Well, I interview dozens of people for each opening… I can't quite remember details…"

"Whatever you can remember," Jane insisted. There had to be something for them to go on.

"What kind of trouble is she involved in anyway? I mean, she seemed to be an all right person, " Arvin said, defensively.

"Bad stuff," Cho said, with the blank expression he wore most of the time, "very bad stuff."

"Tell me exactly what your impression on her was," Jane tried again, moving beside the man. "I don't need details, I just want to know what you thought of her, what made you hire her."

George Arvin took some time to think before he turned to Jane and said, "She seemed like a very dedicated person. Like she did what she had to do to get the job done, you know what I mean? I admit there was something a little off about her… and I honestly couldn't exactly put my finger on it. But she had me when she said, and I remember her words, that she felt a connection with this job, that she somehow needed it. That she believed in serving a higher purpose in life, and that she felt like this job was supposed to be part of her destiny. I thought, if people believe God is watching them as they work, they'll probably do their best, won't they?"

Jane grinned dryly at the man's logic, certain that God wasn't exactly the higher purpose the woman had referred to, and then exchanged a meaningful look with Lisbon, who was thinking along the same lines.


	3. The Difference

_**I**__**n the previous chapters I forgot to mention that I do not own these characters, which is a shame.**_

_**Thanks for reading and please review!**_

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3. THE DIFFERENCE

Since they had broken up, and especially since Van Pelt had started seeing FBI agent O'Laughlin, whenever she and Rigsby were alone, there were these awkward silences, which one of them would try to break with some kind of small talk to show the other that they were all right. This time, however, they were both concerned about Patrick Jane and the effect that the new lead might have on him. Therefore, that was the subject while they drove back from the suspect's house.

"Do you think he would have the guts to kill Red John?" Van Pelt asked.

Rigsby thought a little, before answering. "Well, he has killed someone before."

Van Pelt looked at him. "But that was completely different." She shifted in the passenger seat. "He killed that guy to save Lisbon's life. He didn't have any time to think; the guy was going to shoot her and kill her unless he pulled the trigger first."

"Is that too different from shooting someone who _has_ killed someone you cared about?" Rigsby asked, and it seemed like he didn't quite know the answer.

"I don't know," Van Pelt said, confused. "I can't imagine being in his place."

Rigsby reduced the speed and took a right turn to pull up in front of the diner where they were meeting Lisbon, Jane and Cho for lunch. He and Van Pelt got out of the car and approached the door, which he opened for her. Their three colleagues were already sitting. Jane seemed to be distractedly looking out the window, while Lisbon sifted through some papers and Cho drank beer from the bottle.

"Nothing," Rigsby announced, pulling a chair for himself while Van Pelt did the same. "Not even furniture. There was absolutely nothing in Andrea Weiland's place."

Jane looked at Rigsby, not really surprised. Then he looked at Van Pelt, who looked back at him and seemed to be analyzing him. There was also guilt in her eyes, probably for not having brought good news. He smiled at her.

"We're on to something, though," Lisbon said. "The guy who interviewed her quoted something she said and it pretty much sounded like the same crap Rebecca said about Red John." After saying the words, Lisbon shuddered with the memory of the woman who had infiltrated the CBI and killed four agents, including Sam Bosco. She looked down, remembering Bosco with sadness.

"About serving a higher purpose, about destiny," Cho said, and Jane thought that if the subject wasn't Red John, he would have grinned disapprovingly.

"None of the neighbors remembers her," Van Pelt said, "they said that she never came home, and, when she did, they never saw her arrive or leave, they only saw the lights on and then off again."

"They never heard any sounds coming from her house, either," Rigsby added.

"The colleagues who remember her say she was an ordinary woman, who only spoke when necessary and never stood out for any reasons," Cho commented.

"A woman said that she had a boyfriend," Lisbon said, "but she only saw him once, when he picked her up in his motorcycle. But she doesn't remember anything else about him. Only that he drove a noisy motorcycle. She can't describe what he looked like, nothing. She can't even say for sure that he was Weiland's boyfriend, since he only picked her up, they didn't do or say anything."

"She just hopped on the motorcycle and they left, that horrible sound," Jane said, the right corner of his mouth curved in a shade of a smile, reproducing the witness's words and speaking for the first time since they had arrived at the diner.

"Here are the resumé and letters of recommendation. Van Pelt, I want you to check if these places and people exist and know anything about her, but I don't think anything will turn up."

"Yes, boss," Van Pelt said as she picked the papers Lisbon was handing to her, as well as the small computer she brought with her. She intended to start digging immediately.

Lisbon shut the folder closed, impatiently. "Damn it," she murmured.

Soon, the food arrived. However, except for Rigsby, no one was very hungry. Lisbon was still paying close attention to the quiet, pensive Jane, and she almost missed how, in normal cases, he would drive her crazy with the most irritating jokes.

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Back at the CBI headquarters, Lisbon sat in her office, unsure of what to do. What had looked like a good lead had turned out a waste of time, and the case was stuck again. This Andrea Weiland, and that wasn't even her real name, seemed to be involved, no doubt, but she had disappeared, leaving no trace behind. All they had was a photo provided by the cable TV company; all the rest was bogus. She sighed, wondering if Jane was in his new found hiding place, since he wasn't lying on his couch. She lay back on her chair, feeling useless.

Jane was lying on his improvised bed, looking away. He felt he should be doing something, but he didn't know what to do. He was back here, thinking, waiting. He positioned the pillow on his face, trying to block his mind from thinking so much, about everything at the same time. He tried not to think about anything, and he continued with that exercise until he ended up falling asleep.

Night was about to start falling when Lisbon decided to check on Jane, since she hadn't heard about him for hours. She went up the stairs and walked up to his improvised abode, knocking first and, since there was no answer, opening the door. She looked around and saw him lying on his surrogate bed, looking fast asleep. She sighed, at least he was here, not away, doing God knows what.

She walked further into the room, towards the window, hearing the faint sounds of traffic coming from outside. She looked around at his mess. A couple of suitcases, shoes lying around, papers scattered across the floor. Then, she noticed something inside the overnight bag he usually carried when they traveled, which lay open on the floor. It was a wooden box. She kneeled to take a closer look, wondering what was inside. She thought maybe it was an object that had once belonged to his wife or daughter, something that reminded him of them. She was tempted to open it and look, but she felt like an intruder for even entertaining the thought.

Lisbon stood up again. She looked at Jane. His expression was serene, his breathing even. He slept on his side, with his arms crossed. She looked around and then out the window. The city lights starting to stand out in the falling darkness didn't tell her anything. Nothing was telling her anything, except for a voice in her mind, screaming that she _had_ to do something. Anything. Restless, she looked around again, at his clothes, at the papers, at the shoes. Nothing gave her any clues on what to do.

She thought she'd better leave, but then her mind focused on the wooden box again. What was inside it that he needed to take with him wherever he would go? In an impulse, she got down on her knees and took the box into her hands. It was heavier than she would have expected, and that was weird. Any personal objects from his wife or daughter would have been lighter, she thought. Maybe a doll, earrings, she didn't know what else it could be, but she couldn't think of anything that heavy.

"Screw it," she whispered, opening the box for once. Her mouth fell open at the sight of what was inside. It was a gun. Jane hated guns, he didn't even know how to deal with weapons. Well, he had found a way to shoot one once, when he saved her life. Horrible thoughts started to fill her mind, about how long he could have had that gun, about how he might have always faked his distaste and clumsiness around guns. She had to lean a hand on the floor to keep from falling, because she was starting to feel dizzy with the scenarios she was visiting in her mind.

"What are you doing?"

She jumped at the sudden sound of his voice behind her. She realized she had been caught searching through his things, and maybe he had a right to be mad at her because of it, but right now _she_ was the one mad at _him_.

"No," she said, standing up with the gun in her hand, leaving the box on the floor. "What are _you_ doing? With this?"

Jane sighed, rolling his eyes. "It's a gift."

"A gift?" her tone was incredulous. "What kind of person gives somebody a gun?"

"The kind of person who also seeks revenge," he said, with a twisted smile. "I got it from Max Winter, remember him?" His tone was casual.

"Max Winter," she repeated, a bit relieved, but still distrustful. If that were true, he would have had the gun for a couple of months, only.

"Yes. He told me shooting helped him cope, that it was a release. That he would shoot at targets imagining they were his wife's killer, and then, with time, they went back to being only targets." He paused, then chuckled, looking away. "Of course, he was lying, he actually shot his wife's killer after all."

Lisbon was silent, as though paralyzed. Jane stood up and approached her. "He gave it to me and I kept it, that's all."

"You've been taking it with you in your overnight bag," Lisbon accused.

"No, I haven't," he corrected her, a finger lifted. "I took it with me today, for the first time," he said, sincerely, with a hint of a smile.

"Well, you're not taking it anywhere else," she said, starting to move on her way out, taking the gun with her. He held her by her arm.

"Give it back to me," he said, serious. "You know it's useless. Wherever you put it, I'm going to find it."

She stared intently into his eyes.

"Start sounding like a criminal and I'll take you off the case," she threatened.

"I'll never be off this case. I'll be in it until I find him, whether I have your permission or not," he said, grimly, a piercing look in his eyes.

Lisbon couldn't contain a shiver. He was getting scarier every day. He still held her arm, but he loosened his grip and his expression. He didn't want to scare her. Maybe he should want to.

"You'll never see this gun again," she challenged. Jane smiled.

"Winter told me it was worth it to kill his wife's killer," he said, as though trying to justify himself.

"Yeah, well, have you considered that he didn't actually kill him?" she asked, furiously. "When he arrived to shoot the guy, he was most likely dead or far gone on his way to dying, with a gunshot wound to the head. For all he knows, he shot a dead body. That doesn't count as killing. He doesn't have it in his conscience; he knows he's not a murderer."

"I _have_ killed a man," he said, "you have killed people. Aren't we murderers?"

"Those are different situations, you know that," she retorted, her voice a furious whisper.

"They don't seem all that different to me," he said. "Anyway, I'd be killing a murderer. Someone who deserves to die. Like the man I killed and the people you killed on duty."

Lisbon forcefully removed her arm from his grip. "I'm sad for you," she said. "This is a very sad way to live."

He chuckled, grimly. "Well, I have my reasons."

"Can't you see? You're concentrating all your energy into bad feelings, into bad things. That can't be good!"

Jane sighed. "You don't understand."

"Oh yes, I do," she said, approaching him. "I might not behave like I see myself as a victim, but I have suffered loss. Life hasn't been fair to me either." She looked at him defiantly. "My mother was killed in a stupid accident, hit by a damn drunk driver. Because of that, not only I had to deal with not having a mother when I most needed one, but I had to become a parent for my brothers, because we could only count on our dad to beat us up!" She had started to raise her voice until she shouted the last part.

Jane looked down, guilt washing over him. He knew all that about her, but he had never seen her demonstrate how painful it was for her.

"Oh I wanted that guy to die," she said, a weird smile contracting her face muscles. "I saw him at the police station, giving his statement. I wanted to kill him right there and then, with my bare hands. But I knew that my mother, wherever she was, wouldn't want me to turn into a monster. To fill my life with rage, with hatred." Her voice cracked. "She'd want me to move on."

Jane wanted to apologize for saying she didn't understand, but not for wanting his revenge. Also, he considered it quite hypocritical of her to be so mad about him having a gun in a box when she carried one hooked up to her hip.

"And you moved on to become a cop, instead of a monster, so you'd have license to kill without being a killer?"

Her eyes suddenly filled with tears, and one jumped off without even rolling down her face. That made him regret his words instantly.

"How dare you?" she asked, in a low tone, deeply hurt, and then looked down so he wouldn't see the tears rolling down her face.

He sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry," he said, shaking his head. Unsure of what to do, he took a step forward, saying, "I didn't mean to hurt you. But it's true, isn't it?"

She wiped her tears with her sleeve and looked up at him as he continued. "What happened to your mother was what ultimately drove you into this career path. You wanted to make things right, to put away all the bad guys who took away innocent people's mothers, isn't that right?" He smiled. "And, of course, control freaks tend to seek authority positions."

Lisbon didn't find any reasons to return the smile. Or any arguments against his theory. His own smile disappeared, slowly.

"It's the same thing I want to do," he said, in a soft voice. "I want justice for what happened to me, too."

"Becoming a killer just like him is not the way to do that," she finally managed to say.

"Well, what if _you_ killed him?" he asked, genuinely curious. "Would _you_ become a killer?"

"I would only kill him if I had no other choice," was her answer. "It's my duty."

"I _have_ no other choice," he retorted, trying to make her understand for once.

"You know what I meant, and yes, you do," she said. "It's one thing to become a cop. Another thing, completely opposite, to become a killer."

Jane stared at her, seeing there was a true difference between those two things in her eyes. Both were silent for a while. Lisbon turned away from him, took a few steps around, put his gun away in the back of her jeans and then spoke again, starting cautiously. "I know you don't believe in an afterlife, but what if your wife and child _are_ somewhere, and they're seeing you and the way you're choosing to live your life and that's making them suffer?"

Jane's expression changed completely into an undefined mixture of anger and guilt.

"They're not anywhere," he said, his voice cracking. "They're gone, they don't exist anymore, and that's because of me!"

"All right then," Lisbon raised her voice, impatiently, "they're gone, disappeared, not a trace! Okay?"

"Okay," he said, going back to his normal tone and relaxing his posture as well, as though she had finally started to make sense.

She measured her words, asking herself whether to say them or not. Then she decided to do it.

"Let's talk about people who still exist, then," she said lightly. He faced her again, looking puzzled. "People who are alive and care about you." She paused, looking deep into his eyes as he looked deep into hers. "Me, for example."

Those words made him smile a crooked smile which expressed angst, as he shook his head, looking down. "Well, you shouldn't care about me," he stated simply.

"But I do," she raised her voice a little, making him look at her again. "And it hurts me to see you want to become a murderer." Before he could reply, she posed a hand in front of her, so as to make him hear her out before he spoke. "I care about you and I don't want you to live your life like this. Do you want to hurt me?"

He took a deep breath, and shook his head while answering, sincerely, "No, I don't."

"Then stop," she said, and tears started to shine in her eyes again. "Stop saying things like that, stop acting like your life is over," and to continue, she took a deep breath and fought hard to keep herself from crying, "because it's not. You're still alive and you still have people who care whether you're all right or not!"

He took a step forward, feeling really confused by her crying, not knowing whether to comfort her or not. He decided, however, not to get any closer.

"Well, like I said, you shouldn't care," he said. "Because I'm not all right, and I won't be. I don't want to be."

Tears finally got the best of Lisbon as she said "You think you're punishing yourself, but you're punishing others too. You're punishing the people who are beside you, trying to help you, trying to be there for you!"

"I don't want people to be there for me," he said, harshly. "You should know that everyone who cares about me ends up being punished for it."

"Well, do you realize that that's a pretty ego centered way of looking at things?"

"One more reason you shouldn't waste any time or energy on me," he said.

"You know what, I agree," she said, really hurt by his coldness. "But it's not like I can decide!"

Lisbon regretted having told him that she cared. She thought that, if she could take those words back, she would. She was so mad that she wanted to tell him he was right; he didn't deserve to have anybody who cared about him. But she couldn't lie. That was not her true opinion, even though she did hate him for trying to push her away like that. So, since she had already said too much, she decided to say even more.

"You see," she started, in a normal tone now and winning the fight over her tears, "you can try as hard as you can, but you're not succeeding in pushing me away. I'll do what I think is right, so I won't go anywhere, no matter what you say to try and hurt me."

Jane took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, there was a heart-shattering sadness in them, and he said, with sincerity, "I wish you _would_. For your own sake, not mine."

"Shut up, you're being stupid," she said, abruptly, but he approached her and continued speaking.

"I am stupid. I've always been. And I wish you didn't care about me, I wish I was nothing for you, because I don't deserve to be something."

"Do you think that's something I can control?" she asked, with a hint of desperation in her voice, "can _you_ control who you care about?"

He stopped for a moment, weighing what to say. Then, he gave up filtering and spoke exactly what he was thinking and feeling, something he never did. "No, I can't", was what came out, suddenly and harshly, for he was irritated to admit it. Moving his hands in a sign of despair, he continued, "what do you want me to say? You want me to tell you that I care about you in a way that makes me feel guilty? That makes me feel like I'm betraying my dead wife?"

When those words reached her, Lisbon needed to catch her breath and her whole body shuddered. Jane was similarly shocked by his own words. She looked down, but he held her by her arms to make her look at him again as he went on.

"You want me to tell you that seeing you cry because of me hurts me in a way that I imagined nothing could anymore?" He tightened his grip on her arms as he said the words.

The sadness and sincerity in his eyes caused hers to water once more and right now she just wanted him to stop. She just wanted him to let that sadness vanish and replace it with one of his usual smug smiles. With tears rolling down her face, she just shook her head, looking down, and then freed her arms just to throw them around him in a hug, burying her face in his chest and letting the sobs escape her. She felt his arms holding her tightly and it was like they covered her whole body.

"Lisbon…" he breathed in her ear, while one of his hands moved through her hair and the other held her even tighter.

She took deep breaths to calm her sobs, until they stopped altogether. She noticed that the fabric in contact with her face was wet, and murmured, "your shirt…"

"It's ok," he said, and his voice wasn't louder than a whisper.

Lisbon couldn't say, if somebody had asked her, how long she stood there, in Jane's arms. But when she decided to leave, she simply removed herself from his embrace and left, without looking back and carrying his gun away with her. She went to her office and put it away in a locked drawer while she tried to think of a place to hide it. She went to the kitchen, in serious need of a cup of strong, hot coffee to help her think. A few minutes and half the coffee later, she had an idea. She went back to her office and opened the drawer, only to find that the gun was no longer there.


	4. The Key

_**I don't own them, but I wish I did! Thanks for the sweet reviews. =)**_

_**I hope you enjoy it!**_

* * *

4. THE KEY

Jane put the gun back in its case, and hid it in a hole that already existed on the wall, covering it with a piece of a matching brick. His shirt was still damp on the spot where Lisbon's face had been earlier. He put a hand there, as he thought about how he had lost control for a moment and told her about feelings he hadn't even admitted to himself yet. That had been _really_ stupid.

Whatever he felt for Lisbon, and he wouldn't allow himself any further thought about that, he didn't want to drag her into his revenge. He wanted her as far away as possible from it. Which was difficult, since she, alongside her team, were the investigators in charge of the case. He guessed that was the moment he had thought about, when he had to be alone. He took the wooden box out of its hiding place again, because he decided he would drive back near Andrea Weiland's address, see if he found anything. On his own.

Jane had expected to find quiet when he passed near the bullpen, trying his best not to be noticed, but he saw some agitation as Van Pelt was showing something to the rest of the team. He looked at Lisbon, remembering her small figure in his arms, sobbing, so vulnerable, like she never let anybody see her. She was pulling her cell phone from her pocket and dialing, and his phone started to vibrate in his own pocket. He hid in the kitchen.

"Hello," he said.

Lisbon's voice showed no emotion as she said, "I think you should get down here."

"I'll be right there." He waited a while in the kitchen, just so he wouldn't arrive so quickly, and on his way to the bullpen he left his overnight bag in a corner where he judged no one would notice it.

"What's up?" he asked, anxiously, as he finally reached his colleagues. Lisbon directed a quick, sad look into his eyes, before both looked away, and during that second of staring it felt like they had had another long argument about how they would never agree.

"One of her past jobs turned out to be real and guess what?" Van Pelt was excited about her discovery. "It was at a motorcycle repair shop. Maybe that's where she met her alleged boyfriend."

Jane's plan of going alone was ruined, but he made sure to _drive_ alone, in his car, while the team drove in the black SUV. After Van Pelt's explanation, it wasn't like anybody said "let's go"; they simply took their things and walked silently towards the elevator and then towards the cars. There was no question about whether to go or wait until the morning, since it was already past 10 PM, or about anything at all.

Rigsby looked puzzled when Jane got into his car alone, and asked Van Pelt, "what's with him?" She shrugged, saying "what's with him _and_ Lisbon." Cho approached them and said, "they must have fought, like always, but this time it must have been ugly."

Lisbon was approaching and, seeing the team's chitchat, she waved her hand impatiently. "Are you ready to go or not?" She glanced quickly at Jane's car, headlights already on, backing up and maneuvering its way out. She didn't like it that he was going by himself, but she couldn't babysit him all the time. She got into the driver's seat and slammed the door with anger, trying to convince herself she didn't give a damn about him, his gun, his car or his revenge. Screw him.

She didn't say a word throughout the drive, but she thought millions of them. She remembered her whole exchange with Jane earlier, and felt ridiculous for having said what she had, for having cried in his arms, while his only intention was getting his stupid gun back. Maybe he had even said those things about how he cared about her only to get her to trust him. She hated how he treated her like she was dumb, like she was one of his old clients, who believed in his acts.

Absent-mindedly, Lisbon had been hitting the steering wheel as she thought, making the other three agents exchange silent, worried looks. Van Pelt wrote in her notepad and showed the others, afraid to make any sudden sounds: _It's going to be a long night._

Despite the team's hurry, the repair shop was closed. Lisbon got off the car anyway, walked towards the place and rang the bell. The rest of the team followed and stood behind her as she waited for an answer. She noticed with her peripheral vision as Jane got out of his car and approached them. She rang the bell again, three times. Since there was no answer, she turned around.

"Let's go find a motel to spend the night," she announced, "and then we'll come back first thing in the morning."

Jane nodded, turning around and going back to his car. He had been oppressing a comment that had been on the tip of his tongue since Van Pelt had shared the new information, because he had, after all, decided that he had now secretly departed from the team. Therefore, he murmured the comment to himself, as he sat in his car, starting the engine, "why would she include a real job in an otherwise totally fake CV?"

Like a good boy, Jane followed the team to the nearest motel, where they all got rooms. He went to his room, stayed there for a while, just until he judged everyone had already gone to bed. While he waited, the words came to him, like a wicked mantra.

_Tiger, tiger, burning bright_

_In the forests of the night,_

_What immortal hand or eye_

_Could frame thy fearful symmetry?_

And there he went, hiding in the forests of the night. He didn't know exactly where he was heading, but he knew he had to be somewhere else, other than that motel room. As it turned out, there was a diner near the repair shop, and he decided to go there. He entered the not so well-lit place, went up to the counter and ordered a beer. Then, he chose a table and sat there with his drink.

Jane observed that there were not many people there at that hour. On the other side of the diner sat a couple, who seemed to be in their first or second month dating. Not too far from them, a man wearing a hat sat with his back curved, eating something Jane couldn't identify while reading a newspaper. On the third occupied table, sat a bald man in his mid-thirties, with deep dark circles under his eyes, wearing a black t-shirt and a leather jacket on top of it. He drank a beer distractedly, but when he looked up and saw Jane looking at him, some weird emotion played in his eyes for a very brief moment, before he put on an irritated look that said "what are you looking at?"

Taking the first sip of his drink, Jane looked away, finding the guy's attitude very weird. Quietly, he observed him for the next forty-five minutes, but the bald man never directed another look in his direction, and seemed as distracted as he had seemed when Jane had first noticed him. Maybe he had just wondered what the hell a guy in a three-piece suit was doing in a place like that so late at night. He finished his beer and was ready to stand up and leave, convinced that the diner had been a waste of time, when he noticed the bald guy was also about to leave. He decided to wait, so he could see where the guy was going, just in case.

He looked out the window, but the man seemed to disappear in the dark night. He waited, maybe he was going to appear on the road, driving a car. Maybe he lived nearby and was going home on foot. But then he heard a very loud and weird engine sound. The other occupants of the diner looked out the windows as well, to see where that odd noise was coming from, and they all saw it as an ordinary-looking motorcycle passed in front of the diner, driven by the bald guy.

Jane's eyes widened and he stood up as fast as he could. Stumbling, he went up to the door, opened it and looked at the road, but the motorcycle was far gone, its loud sound still echoing in his ears. He went back in, his mind racing at the possibility of having found Andrea Weiland's noisy motorcycle owner boyfriend, and asked the man behind the counter.

"Who's that man? The one who just left, on the motorcycle? Does he come here often?"

The tired-looking man stared at him like he was crazy. "I had never seen him around before."

* * *

The next morning, when he saw Lisbon, Jane had to make a real effort not to tell her about the previous night's event. She was still giving him the cold shoulder, talking mostly to the team and ignoring him, even though her demeanor gave away her acute awareness of his presence. He told himself he was protecting her.

There wasn't even mention of breakfast as they went directly to their cars and drove right to the motorcycle repair shop. Lisbon just wanted to get that over with. She didn't know if she believed some real lead was coming out of that visit, or even if she wanted something concrete on the case right now. All she knew was that she'd rather find out soon. Jane had invited Cho to drive with him, certainly more talkative and smiley than the night before. Screw him. Van Pelt sat next to her in the SUV. Rigsby sat on the backseat, eating something, his chewing extremely hearable in the silence.

"So, did you sleep well, Cho?" Jane asked, smiling.

"Fine," was Cho's monosyllabic answer, and they didn't say much more than that during the fifteen-minute drive. All Jane could think of was the bald guy in the noisy motorcycle, and he wondered if, by any means, he would be at the repair shop. Something told him he wouldn't.

This time, they encountered the repair shop's doors wide open. Upon seeing the cars, a man in his thirties, with short, red hair, stopped what he was doing and waited at the entrance. Jane noticed deep concern in his expression. Lisbon was approaching him, showing her badge.

"Mr. Joseph Morgan?" she asked, in her authoritative tone, and that reminded Jane of her struggling to speak through tears, an image he quickly pushed away from his mind. "I'm agent Lisbon, we're with the CBI, we'd like to ask you a few questions."

Van Pelt approached him as well. "I'm agent Van Pelt, we spoke on the phone last night." She shook the man's hand.

"These are agents Cho and Rigsby," Lisbon said, "and that is Patrick Jane, consultant with our team."

"So you told me on the phone, Mr. Morgan, that this woman worked for you here in your shop." Van Pelt showed him Andrea Weiland's picture.

Joseph Morgan looked at the picture for a long moment and said, nodding nervously and not making eye contact, "yes, she did."

"No, she didn't," Jane said, taking a few steps forward, one lifted finger, reading the man's reaction; Morgan was caught completely off guard, not knowing what to say or do. "You know her, for sure, but she never worked here."

Jane smiled at Morgan's stuttering, and then continued. "Actually," he took the picture, "excuse me, Van Pelt, I notice a resemblance between you two… Especially your cheekbones… Your eyes also look a lot alike… And of course, your hair color: she had her hair dyed blonde, but she's obviously a redhead, like you. Even the freckles are the same."

Morgan nodded, that concern still all over his face. "Ok, she's my sister."

Jane had that insufferable smug smile on his face; Lisbon rolled her eyes.

"Oh, really, Mr. Morgan?" she asked. "What's her real name?"

The man hesitated, but spoke, sighing. "Jenna. Jenna Morgan."

"And why was she using an alias?" Cho asked.

"I don't know," Morgan said, "she really wanted that job in the cable TV place, so she invented some stuff in her resumé. I guess she didn't want to get in trouble with her real name in case someone found out."

"And do you know why she wanted that job so much?" Van Pelt asked.

"She didn't tell me. All she said was she needed that job very much."

"And where is she now, Mr. Morgan?" Lisbon asked.

Morgan shook his head, sadness and worry in his eyes. "She's gone."

"Gone where?" Cho asked.

"I don't know," he said, sincerity and sorrow clear in his eyes. "I even filed a missing person's report."

There was a moment of silence as the team exchanged looks, except for Lisbon; she looked intently at Morgan's face, her lips parted and squinting, as though she was trying to understand something.

"Mr. Morgan," she finally spoke, "please tell me something. Why would your sister include your shop as a previous job in her resumé while everything else in it is either bogus or shows no connection to her whatsoever?"

Jane looked at her. So she had thought the same thing he had.

Morgan hesitated, at first. Then, he spoke. "Probably as some kind of failsafe in case something…" his voice broke as he went on, "bad… happened to her. She told me that if something happened to her and the police asked me if I knew her, I should say yes."

"And why would she be worried that something bad might happen to her?" Van Pelt asked.

"Well, she was involved with some kind of religious organization… Something she wouldn't talk much about, but to which she was really devoted." Jane and Lisbon exchanged an involuntary look. "I was ok with it until one night when she told me she was worried."

"Worried about what?" Cho asked.

"She said she was worried, and wouldn't say anything else. I told her I couldn't help her unless I knew what she was worried about."

"And what was it?" Jane asked, anxiously, taking two steps forward.

"She was worried that she might be killed."

"Killed by who?" Lisbon asked.

"By the people she was involved with. She wouldn't tell me who they were, though. She said if I knew, they'd come after me, too."

"Did she say why?" Cho asked.

"No, she wouldn't say anything else. And then, the next day, she went to work and never came back." Morgan's eyes started to water. "I told her not to go, but she said she should, so she wouldn't raise suspicion."

The team exchanged looks, except for Jane; Lisbon saw the pain in his eyes as he identified with the man's loss.

"Sir, you have to tell us everything you know about these people," Lisbon asked, and she felt her fingertips shaking with anxiety, "anything at all."

Morgan shook his head. "I don't know anything, I never saw anything."

"You said you thought it was some kind of religious group," Van Pelt said. "What made you believe that? Did you ever see her with any kind of material, something written, some symbol, some prayer, anything?"

"No, nothing" he said, shaking his head impatiently. "I just assumed it had to do with religion because of the way she talked about it, when she did, and the things she said. That she couldn't tell me what she was doing, that it was secret, but that it was going to help a lot of people; that what she was doing was going to serve a higher purpose."

"Higher purpose my ass," Rigsby murmured. Lisbon eyed him disapprovingly.

She sighed. Whenever it looked like they were on to something, it turned out a dead end. She was growing sick of walking through that maze.

"One more thing, Mr. Morgan," she said. "Did Jenna have a boyfriend?"

Morgan looked at her inquisitively. "Not that I knew."

"Maybe a friend," she insisted, "someone who might have picked her up at work in a noisy motorcycle?"

Jane saw the bald man with deep circles under his eyes as if he was in front of him.

"No," Morgan said, with a puzzled expression. "She didn't have any friends. Nobody ever picked her up, she took the bus."

Lisbon bit her lip. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Morgan," she said, turning around. Jane looked at her curiously, wondering what was on her mind.

The team thanked Morgan and followed Lisbon, but Jane stayed. When the others were far enough, he approached Morgan.

"Hey, do you know someone bald, in his mid-thirties, who has dark circles under his eyes and drives a very noisy motorcycle?"

Morgan looked even more puzzled. "I don't think so. I mean, I know a lot of guys who have bikes, obviously… Bald, dark circles? I don't know, I don't think so."

Jane smiled. "Thank you, have a good day."

He walked fast so he would reach Lisbon. "What are you thinking?" he asked.

She looked at him. "About what?"

"You're thinking about something, you want to go somewhere, talk to someone."

She stopped walking when she reached the SUV. "Yeah. I'm thinking maybe the motorcycle guy took her. Maybe it was on the same night when Morgan last saw her."

Jane nodded. "It's possible."

"So I'm thinking, why did nobody at the company tell us she disappeared?"

He nodded again. "I see. Let's go there, then. Come with me." He waved his hand in the direction of his car.

Lisbon hesitated. She didn't like his driving or his car. Still, she wanted the team back in the CBI headquarters and those were the only available cars at the moment.

"Fine," she said, and then turned to face Van Pelt. "I want the three of you back in Sacramento. Now we have her name, start digging immediately. Jane and I will go talk to her colleagues again, see exactly how it was that she lost or quit her job."

Jane and Lisbon walked towards his car and the other agents exchanged looks.

"So they're ok?" Rigsby asked, getting on the driver's seat.

"I guess…" Van Pelt answered.

* * *

Jane and Lisbon's drive was a quiet one; neither of them would mention the elephant in the room. Jane wouldn't bring it up because he didn't want to talk about the gun. Lisbon wouldn't bring it up because she didn't want to talk about her breakdown. In addition, neither of them wanted to talk about Red John and revenges at that moment.

"I wish we had a lead on the motorcycle guy," said Lisbon, breaking the silence when they got off the car and sending a wave of guilt through Jane's mind. He didn't answer.

George Arvin received them again. "What can I do for you, agents?"

"Mr. Arvin," Lisbon began, straight to the point, "you only told us that Andrea Weiland no longer worked here, but you never mentioned what happened; if she resigned or was fired."

"She resigned," Arvin said. Lisbon sighed, frustrated that she would have to reformulate her theory. But then, after a pause, Arvin continued. "Actually, she just stopped showing up. We tried to contact her, but we didn't find her. Then, a week later or so her letter of resignation arrived in the mail. There was also a note saying she was sorry but she had had an emergency and couldn't come back."

Lisbon nodded. "Thank you, sir."

When they were sitting again in Jane's car, Lisbon told him, "I think she worked for Red John, but something happened and she didn't want to anymore."

"And then, she became a victim," Jane added.

Lisbon bit her lip again, anxiously. "Motorcycle guy is the key," she said. "I know it. He knows where she is and what happened to her."

Jane looked at her with a very serious expression, then nodded, looking away. Then, with a half-smile, he put a hand on his stomach, saying, "I'm really hungry. How about we go for some fruit?"


	5. Trick

5. TRICK

Jane took a sip from his tea. He sat on his couch, with a lost stare, thinking about the motorcycle man. There was no doubt he was involved in Jenna Morgan's disappearance, but was he involved with Red John? He glanced at Lisbon's office, and imagined that she would probably be sitting there, thinking the same thing.

He then recalled that moment when the man had first seen him; Jane had noticed some weird emotion in his eyes, only for a split second. It almost looked like recognition, now, thinking about it. What if that strange look had been the demonstration that he had recognized Jane as Red John's enemy?

At that precise moment, though, before he could think any further, Lisbon burst into the bullpen, wearing a terrified look which she obviously tried to hide. Jane's involuntary reaction was standing up. She looked at him first, and then at the others.

"Crime scene," she said, in a weak voice. She didn't have to say anything else.

During the three-hour drive, Van Pelt explained how she hadn't found anything on Jenna Morgan, that she was clean; no priors, nothing standing out in her bank accounts, nothing raising suspicion of any kind. She could, however, have done something suspicious under a false name. She certainly seemed to have. And Van Pelt just kept sharing her thoughts on the matter, not at all discouraged by Lisbon's shortness of answers.

Lisbon felt sick the whole time, so she was glad Van Pelt was driving, but the rookie agent's monologue wasn't helping. They were alone in the SUV, while Cho and Rigsby traveled in the sedan and Jane drove his Citroën. She wished she were traveling with Cho, with who silence was never awkward, on the contrary, it was appreciated. She wished she didn't have to see what she was going to see. She wished Jane didn't have to see it, either.

When they arrived, local police cars were parked all around the place: a small, plain, wooden house, isolated from civilization. The ground was extremely dry and dusty, with few trees around. The sun was scalding hot, and there was practically no wind to alleviate the heat. Lisbon waited for Jane to approach and walked beside him.

"You don't have to see this," she said lightly.

"Thanks, but I want to," was his simple answer.

Jane and Lisbon entered the house first, with officers guiding them. The rest of the team followed. It just looked like an ordinary abandoned house at first sight. But then, at the entrance of another room, it was already possible to see it: a bright red smiley face on the wall, drawn with Jenna Morgan's blood serving as ink. Upon walking a few more steps, she became visible, lying on a mattress on the floor, her body cut all over, her toenails painted with her own blood.

Jane took a deep, thorough breath, trying to contain his horror. Lisbon felt her stomach trying to get rid of the fruits she had had earlier, but held them when they reached her throat. She couldn't contain, though, the impulse to grab Jane's arm, and she couldn't tell if that showed her support or asked for his. She looked up at him, and he returned the look.

"This is a message," he said. "He wants us to know that everything we have was given to us by him. Like this crime scene."

"Or he wants us to think that," Lisbon retorted. "We can't jump to conclusions." She let go of his arm.

Jane looked at her hand, almost sorry she had removed it from his arm, but he dismissed the thought and realized he shouldn't be sharing any more ideas. Didn't he want her off the case? He turned around and left the room, unable to continue staring at Jenna Morgan's body. Lisbon stayed behind, talking to the officers and forensics specialists. Rigsby, Van Pelt and Cho entered as he left.

He stood in the hallway, alone, thinking. The investigation had to stop. He didn't know what Red John's message was, but he thought he should be the only player in the serial killer's game at this point. Lisbon came out of the room, with a troubled expression on her face and looking extremely pale. He wondered if she was feeling sick. She was staring at him, and stopped walking to stand next to him.

"The final report will be ready by the end of the afternoon," she announced, "but forensics places her death between 10pm and 12am last night."

"I say we drop this" Jane said. "I think he's warning us he has everything under control."

Lisbon cocked her head, squinting, trying to read him. Impossible, as usual. All she saw was dread coming from his expression, probably an effect of the crime scene.

"We can't just drop this, you know that," she said.

He sighed. "I fear for you and the team," he said, truthfully. "If his message is meant for you to stop digging, then you should stop digging."

She took a step forward. "May I know why you didn't include yourself?"

Damn Freudian slip, he thought. And she had caught it. He _was_ rubbing off on her. He had no answer, at first. Then, he shrugged. "I just meant you as the officers of the law, I usually don't include myself as one, that's all."

"Uh-huh," she replied, incredulously, still squinting at him, and then left. Jane knew that telling her to back off wasn't going to be enough. He would have to trick her into doing it. And then, once Lisbon and the team had given up the case, he would be able to pursuit it alone. The problem was _how_ to trick her.

The team got established at the local police station. Jane didn't have patience for all the bureaucratic work that followed; in his opinion, it should be as simple as it actually was. Jenna Morgan was dead. For her, it was over. Like it had been for his family. Therefore, after staying about an hour watching agents and officers working, Jane decided to get up and leave, maybe drive around town. If there was something to be done, it probably wasn't inside that station anyway.

Upon seeing him leave, Lisbon decided to follow. She realized that he was pulling away more than ever now; he was probably trying to execute his plan of outsmarting her, so she wasn't going to let him out of her sight. She told Cho to stay in charge and call her with anything out of the ordinary, and walked in the same direction she saw Jane going. Outside, she found him getting on his car. She rushed to reach him before he started the engine.

Jane was surprised to see her, and even more surprised when she opened the door and sat next to him. "Where are we going?" she asked, almost cheerfully.

"Well," he started, "_I_ was just going for a drive… You know, clear my head."

"Sounds good," she said, putting her seatbelt on. Jane sighed, in defeat, and started the car.

"You're weird," she commented, a few blocks in silence later. She had been watching him as he drove, his expressions, the thoughts making a furrow appear between his brows. "I mean, you're always weird, but you've been acting weirder than weird."

Jane didn't answer and didn't look at her. He was really dissatisfied that she had been able to read his signs lately. And he was certainly dissatisfied that she had been able to surprise him and corner him a few times lately, in ways which he had no readymade answer or reaction for.

"Jane, I know this is Red John, and Red John affects you in ways nobody can even try to imagine. But you should try to defend yourself from it. Instead, you seem to feed on all this evil. I'm worried."

Surprisingly, her tone was not a lecturing one; Jane was finding her hard to read, which was unusual. What were her intentions? What was she getting at?

"I understand your desire for revenge," she went on, "it's natural. But you've got to overcome it. You have to find something good to hold on to. To keep you sane." Lisbon hadn't planned anything she was saying. It was simply coming out on its own. "You're free to use it or not, obviously, but I do have a piece of advice. Don't let this revenge turn you."

For the first time, Jane looked at her. His expression was blank. Hers was serene. "Don't let it make you into someone I _know_ you're not."

He quickly turned his head again, to look ahead, but he did feel her words sinking in. For some reason, they bothered him.

"I thought we wanted to clear our heads," he said, dryly.

"All right," she said, lightly. "Where are we going?"

He looked at her, the corner of his mouth lifted in a shade of a smile, relieved to change the subject. "I have no idea."

They ended up at a diner beside the road, eating ice cream. Most of that time was spent in silence, and Jane appreciated that. Right now, he didn't feel comfortable talking to Lisbon. He felt guilty hiding things from her, and he was worried that she was going to notice that. For some reason, he hadn't been able to completely hide his feelings from her in the last couple of days. And since faking or hiding his feelings had been his specialty all his life, it felt very disturbing not to be able to do that.

Lisbon was a little disappointed that her words, which had been so sincere and came out so naturally, had apparently not reached him at all. Still, she was glad that, right now, he was allowing her to be with him. That moment, in which they ate ice cream in each other's company, something so trivial and simple, almost made her forget for a while that they were actually playing a game in opposite sides.

In the rare moments when they talked, the issues were anything but work. They talked about simple things in life; habits, TV shows, movies. Things they never talked about, not to each other, not to other people. Jane thought it was nice to pretend they had nothing to worry about. He was thankful that Lisbon had ultimately joined him in a genuine attempt to clear their heads, something he wouldn't have done alone.

After all, when he was alone, his mind wouldn't leave him alone.

* * *

Night was falling when Lisbon and Jane got back to the station and, when they arrived, Joseph Morgan was there. He had come to officially identify the body and had just been interrogated by Cho. He looked pale, with dark circles under his eyes and deep sadness in his expression. Jane instantly had an idea. When Morgan was leaving, he offered to walk him out, making sure Lisbon was distracted with something else and wouldn't notice.

"How are you holding up?" Jane asked, when they were already outside.

Morgan simply looked at him, his eyes watering, and shook his head.

Jane sighed. "Guess we were late."

Morgan looked up at him. "What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean, this killer has been on the loose for years," Jane said, in a factual tone. "We've never been able to get any close to him, he's always three steps ahead of us."

"And you're telling me this why?" Morgan was visibly annoyed.

"Well, I believe honesty is the best, actually, the only thing we can give you now, after all, there was clearly nothing we could have done to prevent what happened." Morgan stared at him, incredulity shining in his watery eyes. "And I imagine she was your little sister, so you were probably very protective of her. It seems like it's just been the two of you for a while, now, so you feel responsible, like you're her parent. Or like you _were_." The last part he added while looking down.

It was low, he recognized it, but it was done with the best intentions possible. His plan was to manipulate Morgan into filing a complaint to Lisbon about the team's failure to save his sister's life. He also intended to make him include his feelings of protectiveness and of parenting toward his sister, so that, hopefully, Lisbon would relate, having been a parent to her brothers as well, and back off out of guilt, feeling like the work she was doing was useless and that Red John was long gone again. Luckily, Hightower might even interfere and get the team off the case, at least for a while.

After about ten minutes listening to Jane, Morgan left, disturbed. Jane was sure he would be back. When he was about to go back in the station, he noticed a familiar figure, inside a brown Chevrolet truck. It was the bald guy, the motorcycle guy – without the motorcycle. The man was clearly watching him. Not knowing exactly what to do, Jane ran into his car, hearing it as the man started the engine. He maneuvered the car and started to follow the truck, which was already speeding away.

Jane managed to reach the truck so he could see where it was going, and soon both cars were on the road. About five minutes later, though, the truck slowed down and pulled over. Jane followed. The bald man was already out of his car and walking towards Jane. He was scared now; he had no idea what to do. His gun was in his overnight bag, inside the trunk.

The man stopped beside Jane's window and leaned forward to face him. Jane lowered the window.

"Hey you, why are you following me?" the guy asked.

"I'm not," Jane answered.

"You think I'm stupid?"

"No, sir, not at all," Jane rolled up his sleeves, trying to seem calm and relaxed. "Actually, I'm quite sure I saw you the other night, many miles away from here, so I would say that maybe _you _are following me?"

The guy smiled.

"Me, following you? You're a nutjob, heh?"

Jane chuckled. "I hear that a lot, yes."

"You know what, watch yourself out there. And stay out of my sight." The bald man turned around to leave, but Jane wasn't satisfied.

He got out of the car. "Hey," he said, following him, "since we're here, why don't we talk a little?"

The man turned around.

"About what? I don't even know who the hell you are. I've never seen you before in my life! Have a good night." He started to walk away again.

"About anything. About whatever you want. About Red John, maybe?"

The man hesitated in his next step, and Jane knew. But then he went on like that meant nothing to him. "You need help," he said, grinning. And then, before he got into the car, he stopped walking and looked at him. The smile seemed to be glued to his face as he took a gun out of his jacket pocket and pointed it at Jane.

"Whoa," Jane said, putting his hands up. "There's no need to–"

He was interrupted by his own jump as the gun went off. He fell down on his back, thinking it was over. He thought he was dead. And he probably was, because he wasn't feeling anything. Then, he heard a loud, sharp laugh, and realized he hadn't been shot; his car's front left tire had.

"Good night, Mr. Jane," the bald guy said, still grinning, and getting into his car.

Jane stood up as fast as he could, despite the pain he felt on his back, and was able to read the truck's license plate before it disappeared in the distance. He then ran into his own car to find some paper and a pen to write it down. So there was no doubt now that he was connected to Red John; how else would the man have known his name?

It took him a while to manage the problem with his tire; he wasn't exactly the type to have great physical and technical abilities, so he asked the first person who passed near the road to help him. It was late when he arrived at the station.

Lisbon stood up, a panicked expression on her face.

"Jane," she said, some angst in her voice. "Where the hell were you, you disappeared!"

"I was…" he was surprised at such commotion; the rest of the team seemed worried, too.

"And what the hell happened to your cell phone? I called you a million times!"

Jane took his phone from his pocket.

"It's… dead," he answered. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize. I went back to the diner to pick it up, because I had left it there, and then my tire blew."

"You had left your phone at the diner?" Lisbon asked, a bit doubtful.

"Yes. So I went there to pick it up."

She took a deep breath, looking away, probably deciding whether to believe his story or not. Jane cursed in his mind the fact that he had probably not been very convincing and that she had probably noticed it.

A while after they were sure Jane was safe and sound, the team ordered some food. The agents ate as they worked on the last details about the crime scene. Jane ate with them, but he was neither hungry nor interested in the forensic analysis or in the coroner's report. All he could think of was the bald man and his obvious connection to Red John.

He interrupted the team's discussion rather sharply. "So we have nothing, as usual," he commented.

Silence set in as his colleagues stared at him, blankly. "Isn't that right? There is nothing useful for anything, is there?" He stood up, folding his suit jacket. "We're leaving soon, right? I need to get some sleep." He received no answer; they just went back to their discussion like he hadn't said anything.

When they were distracted enough, Jane took Van Pelt's small computer with him, hiding it with his jacket, and went to another room, which was empty. He ran a program where he could check out the license plate, and the brown truck appeared as belonging to a John Gable.

It took Jane a while to figure out which program was the one in which he could check if that name had a driver's license, but he eventually found it. The search didn't turn up any results, though. Of course not, he thought. The bald guy had probably appeared to him on purpose; Red John probably wanted him to know that the bald guy was connected to him. Therefore, of course running his plate wasn't going to give him anything concrete.

He shut down the computer and quietly returned it to its place. Then, he sat on a chair in the furthest corner away from where the team worked, wondering if the name John Gable meant anything.

Later on, they all checked into a motel. Jane was glad to be alone in his room, where he didn't have to hide his thoughts. He wanted to go somewhere, see if he could find any clues on the bald man, but where was he going to go? Besides, he felt really tired and he could use some sleep. He changed out of his suit and lay on the bed, thinking about how everything just felt like loose ends, scattered pieces of a jigsaw with no apparent connection besides belonging to the same set.

When he closed his eyes, the image of Jenna Morgan's body came to him like it was right in front of his eyes. On the wall, the red smiley face laughed at him.

* * *

The next morning, Jane hadn't managed to get near as much sleep as he would have wanted, so he felt quite moody when he met the team for breakfast at the same diner where he and Lisbon had eaten ice cream the day before. He ordered some eggs and coffee for himself and sat next to her, who was drinking black coffee, distractedly.

"You should eat something," he said, remembering that she was feeling sick at the crime scene and that she hadn't eaten much at dinner the night before.

"I'm not feeling so good," she replied, "my stomach hurts a little." She hadn't had a great night's sleep herself.

"Probably due to lack of food," he retorted, "for lunch you had an apple and a few strawberries. Then you had ice cream and, at night, you ate practically nothing."

She put down her mug and looked at him, with a serious expression that signaled for him to stop it. "I appreciate your concern, but I'm okay."

Jane rolled his eyes, putting his hands up in defeat. He looked at Cho, Rigsby and Van Pelt, who looked like children who didn't know how to behave while their parents argued, and smiled.

"Good morning," he said to them.

"Morning," was the unison murmur of an answer that he got.

"So what's the plan?" he asked, while eggs and coffee were served for him. "Thank you." He turned to the team again. "Where are we going, what are we going to do?"

"We're going to interview the people who live near the crime scene, see if they've seen anything," Cho answered.

"Meh, waste of time," Jane said, taking a sip from his coffee.

"It's what we've got," Van Pelt said, almost hurt.

"This is over," Jane said, serious. "He's gone again."

Lisbon put down her mug again, making sure to make some noise. "You're free to go home if you want to," she said, irritably, "we're going to stay here and do useless things while you can get all the sleep you want. How's that?"

"You're just being stubborn," he retorted. "You don't want to admit there's nothing else to be done."

"And it's really weird that I'm the one insisting, since this is Red John and you'd normally be bugging me to drink my coffee at once so we can leave and try to find something."

Again! He tried not to show any emotions. "You're right, but I only insist when I see a point. I don't see the point in staying here right now, with the little, or, actually, with the nothing we've got."

"Like I said, you're free to go." Lisbon stood up, leaving her coffee behind, and left the diner.

"What's with her?" Jane asked, innocently.

Van Pelt just threw him a furious look, sighed and left, following Lisbon.

Jane couldn't avoid the thought that his manipulation tricks weren't in the best shape; all he could get from Lisbon was irritation, if anything. He was still waiting for Joseph Morgan to show up at the station, but he wondered if _that_ plan was going to work out, since nothing else he tried seemed to be working of late.

"He's an idiot," Van Pelt said, when she reached Lisbon outside. "Most of the time, anyway."

"I don't know what's going on," Lisbon confessed. "There's something different about him. I just can't see exactly what it is."

Van Pelt frowned. "Do you think it could have something to do with Red John?"

"Definitely," Lisbon answered. "What else could it be?"

Soon, Rigsby and Cho joined them. Lisbon shook her head. "I only need one of you to stay here for the interviews. Maybe he's even right and we'll get nothing. Van Pelt, you stay with me. The two of you can go back to Sacramento, do me a favor first and tell him he's free to choose whether to stay or go."

"You got it, boss," Rigsby answered.

Van Pelt was happy to stay in the field instead of going back to the office, so she cheerfully walked to the SUV while Rigsby and Cho went back in the diner to deliver Lisbon's message to Jane. She had the driver's seat this time and was determined to get this thing over with as soon as possible.

As she drove, she thought about Jane's strange behavior. For one thing, he was avoiding any long conversations with her, especially concerning the case. At the same time, though, he seemed so obsessed with getting her to drop the investigation that he wasn't even trying to quietly manipulate her as usual; instead, he sloppily tried to make it look like he was bored with the lack of evidence.

The only reason she could think of for him to do that was that he wanted the team to stop investigating so he could investigate on his own, but there was no evidence, there was really nothing to go on. Unless _he_ knew something the team didn't. But could he be hiding something from them? Something important? Would he be capable of betraying them like that? Just the thought already made her mad at him. He had said he would find a way to get to Red John first, but would he keep information from her?

Jane decided to follow Lisbon and Van Pelt, even though he wished they had also gone back to Sacramento. He didn't think anything useful would come out of the interviews; at best, they would find one or two more inconclusive pieces of the jigsaw. Anyway, he knew that, whatever there might be to find, this place was closer to it than Sacramento.

After twenty minutes driving, Jane realized he was lost; he thought the crime scene was north, but he should have been there by then. He called Lisbon.

"What do you want?" was her answer.

He asked for directions and, after she told him where he had to go, he realized he was on the complete opposite side. It would take him almost an hour to get there, but he drove anyway. When he finally recognized a tall woman with long, red hair walking by the road, he pulled over.

"Where's your car?" he asked.

"Lisbon took it," Van Pelt answered, sitting next to Jane in his car. "She went to the gas station, it was almost out of fuel."

"How are interviews going?"

"Almost finished. Nobody has anything to say, so it ends up being very quick."

Jane sighed. It was way too hot. "I hope Lisbon brings some water."

Lisbon pulled over at the gas station, and noticed that the brown truck which had been behind her on the road did the same. A coincidence, she thought, dismissing the thought that the truck could have been tailing her. She was probably getting paranoid. She got out of the car and saw that the driver of the brown truck did, too.

"Good morning, ma'am," he said, with a kind smile which Lisbon returned.

"Good morning," she said.

The man was bald, probably in his mid-thirties, and had deep, dark circles under his eyes. He wore a black T-shirt and jeans, and gestured for her to fill her car before him.

"Thank you," she said, and he smiled widely.

Lisbon was almost done when she heard the guy saying, "tiger tiger burning bright."

She knew that… What was it? A poem, of course, but who was the author?

"Do you know that poem, ma'am?" he asked.

Lisbon looked at him. He had a weird expression, and seemed eager for her answer.

"Well, um… It's a poem… by…" she suddenly remembered, "William Blake."

"Yes, it is," the man smiled widely. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

Lisbon was embarrassed, and she thought the guy was weird, at least. "Yes," she agreed, turning around to get back in her car.

Before she knew what was happening, though, she felt a hand grabbing her hair forcefully and, a split second later, the hardness of the car door against her forehead.


	6. The Poem

_**After a bad case of writer's block, in which I knew what I wanted to say, but not how, this chapter finally came out. **__**I don't own anything, if I did, the Christmas episode would have been much better (according to my taste, obviously!)**_

_**Pleeeease review!**_

* * *

6. THE POEM

Jane and Van Pelt were about to call Lisbon to ask her to bring some water when a call came to Van Pelt's phone from the station.

"Agent Grace Van Pelt," she answered.

"Hello, agent, this is officer Jones," said the voice on the other end. "We've just received a call from a gas station reporting the assault and kidnapping of a woman. I've sent my men, but, by the description of the victim's car, I think it's yours."

Van Pelt almost dropped her phone. "We'll be right there."

Jane knew something was wrong. He felt his whole body starting to tremble.

"Drive, to the gas station," were the first words Van Pelt managed to say. "They think Lisbon's been kidnapped."

Jane felt his heart race while his hands and legs didn't seem to respond to his commands. Despair took him over. The image of the bald guy came into his mind.

"Drive!" Van Pelt shouted, bringing him back to that moment, and he managed to start the car.

Jane barely noticed as Van Pelt called Rigsby and told him, in a trembling voice, that he and Cho had to come back. He barely noticed the road and the other cars which occasionally shared it with his. He barely noticed the gas station, but he suddenly stopped when he saw the black SUV. He noticed a red stain on the window. He barely noticed the police cars, the sirens and officers, Van Pelt's panicked expression. All he saw was a red stain on the driver's window of Lisbon's car.

He felt Van Pelt's hand pulling him by his arm and making him walk with her, until they stopped and he heard a man telling the officers about what he had seen.

"She was talking to this guy, and then, out of the blue, the guy just grabbed her by her hair and smashed her head against the SUV. Then, he dragged her into his truck and left."

"What did he look like?" Jane asked, trying to catch his breath and having a strong feeling that he already knew the answer.

"Tall, wearing black, no hair, drove a brown truck."

Van Pelt had to help him stand, as his knees didn't seem capable to sustain his weight anymore.

"It's my fault," he murmured.

"What do you mean?" Van Pelt asked, completely shocked by his reaction.

"I know who took her."

* * *

Lisbon felt her head aching before she realized she was awake. It ached so much she felt nauseated. She was lying on a dusty floor, it was dark, and she could barely move because of the pain in her head. She tried to get up anyway, but it ached so much that she groaned loudly and lay back again, whimpering. She touched her forehead with one hand, and felt a big bump, covered with a thick liquid that could only be blood. It was an open wound. She covered it with her sleeve, pressing her arm tightly in an attempt to stanch the blood. The pressure made it hurt so much that her vision went completely black for a moment and she started sobbing in pain.

Then, she heard steps. She tried to look in the direction of the sound, but her vision was blurry and it was too dark. The steps were getting closer to her, until they stopped beside her. Then, the man kneeled down.

"I see that you're awake," said the man, and she recognized the voice as the bald guy in the gas station. "Keep pressuring and it will be okay; it's not as bad as it looks."

"Who are you?" Lisbon asked, clenching her teeth. "What do you want?"

"Don't worry; we'll have time to get to know each other." He stood up. "I'll just be gone for a few minutes, I need to buy some things. You stay here, okay? Don't go anywhere!" He chuckled, while walking out. But then he stopped at the door. "Are you sure you don't know what the poem means?"

Lisbon remembered him reciting _Tiger Tiger_. What the hell could that mean? She didn't answer, which made him chuckle once more.

"I guess Mr. Jane hasn't been telling you everything lately." And he left, locking the door behind him.

She knew it. She just didn't want to believe it, but she should have imagined that he _would_ betray her. He had.

Lisbon could hear the very loud and somewhat uncommon sound of a motorcycle engine roaring to life.

* * *

Right there and then, Jane told Van Pelt and the police officers everything he knew. She was horrified that he had kept that information from the team. She didn't say anything while he spoke, but her expression screamed insults towards him. When it was time to go back to the station, though, she came near him, who sat in his car with his feet on the ground, and told him she was going to ride with the officers.

"Right now, I can't even look at you," she said, her eyes watering. "She was talking to him. If she knew who he was, she would've been ready when he tried to attack her."

Jane knew that. He looked down, unsure of how to behave. He had nothing to say. He was as mad at himself as Van Pelt was. No. He was more mad at himself than anyone could even imagine.

"What did you think you were going to get?"

He looked up at her, sighing. "My revenge," was his answer.

Van Pelt nodded, disgust all over her features. "Unfortunately, this revenge of yours only seems to hurt innocent people."

He closed his eyes and then opened them again. "You're right."

Van Pelt started to leave, but then she turned around again and faced him. "You think you're so smart, you think you know everything, you have everything under control… But there's one basic thing that you fail to see. There are only two sides on this. If you're not on our side, you're on his."

Rigsby and Cho didn't say anything when they arrived, not very long later, but they had the same look in their eyes that Van Pelt had given Jane. He had to repeat everything he knew to Cho, who, while interviewing him, showed the same inexpressiveness he wore while interviewing any other witnesses or suspects. Jane felt like both; especially a suspect.

After that, the agents and officers started working on every possible line of investigation to try to find Lisbon.

Jane didn't know what to do or how to behave. Nobody requested him to do anything, and he didn't know how to help. He had already told them everything he knew. Besides, he didn't feel like he belonged to the team anymore; after what he had done, he wouldn't expect them to trust him again. He didn't know where he stood.

Still, he couldn't go anywhere; he had to know what was being done to find Lisbon. He had to know if there was any news. So he stayed at the station, observing as agents and officers walked and ran all over the place, talking, shouting, speaking on the phone, typing nervously on computers, writing facts and suspicions on the board, tracing possible routes on maps, running down abandoned houses, warehouses and buildings. If he believed in God, he would be praying for a phone to ring, for news to come, for her to show up, unharmed.

Van Pelt's words kept coming back to him, and each time they repeated in his head, they seemed more right. How could he have been so stupid? He had wanted to play this game alone with Red John, but the killer had shown right from the beginning that he was unwilling to agree; from the start, he had been involving people who didn't belong in the game. How could he have not seen that?

It seemed clear to him now; Red John could read him, even from a distance, and he knew that he had been planning to ditch the team. His course of action, then, had been to once again show him how wrong he was. Van Pelt was right, and she couldn't have been more right; he only _thought_ he had everything under control. He was no more than a fool thinking he was so smart. And now, Lisbon would have to pay for his stupidity.

He couldn't imagine it. He couldn't imagine Red John laying his hands on her. Images of his crime scenes kept pushing their way into his mind, but he tried all he could to avoid them, because he simply couldn't afford to imagine that she might be hurt because of him. All he wanted now was to see her again, safe. Nothing else mattered anymore.

Van Pelt was right once more: his revenge had only hurt innocent people, and he couldn't cause any more harm to anyone else. Jane couldn't, however, imagine that it was possible to want revenge any more than he wanted it right now. If he had ever hated Red John, he hated him now more than ever. But he finally recognized that the killer was an enemy he couldn't beat alone.

Jane didn't know what he would do if something happened to Lisbon. He certainly couldn't live with himself if someone else he cared about was harmed because of him. Not only someone else; if Lisbon was harmed because of him. So many times she had tried to reach out to him and he had shut her out; so many times she had stuck her neck out for him, risked her life, her job. He now realized that he had never given her anything in return. He hadn't even been worthy of the trust she put on him.

That much was enough guilt; the guilt of having caused her any harm? That would be unbearable. He wished that was all a nightmare and he would wake up with her shouting at him in the bullpen for some reason. But he knew it wasn't a dream; even the worst nightmare couldn't be so bad.

He almost wished Rigsby and Cho had shouted at him, hit him, done something to him that he deserved. Still, he would have deserved even more. The fact that they were trying not to snap at him made him feel even guiltier; he had betrayed this team. Why would they even hesitate in being harsh on him? At least Van Pelt was still punishing him, by throwing him furious looks now and then.

Jane thought that he would willingly offer himself to Red John for Lisbon's safety in return. As long as she was safe, he wouldn't care if he was alive or dead anymore. If he could only have a chance to undo this terrible mistake, he would take it, and he would give anything for it.

All along since his family had died, Jane had thought he had nothing else to lose. Now, only now, with Lisbon missing and most probably in Red John's hands, did he realize that he had so much to lose.

What he hated most was that Red John had been able to see that before him.

That he had been able to realize feelings Jane himself wouldn't even think about. Wouldn't even try to figure out. Wouldn't allow himself to even consider. But he was allowing himself to consider those feelings now; he was allowing himself not to search for reasons to deny them.

Because he had seen it, he just hadn't allowed himself to admit it. Jane knew now how important Lisbon really was to him, but guilt and regret had made him intentionally blind to that fact. He had willingly lied to himself for years, pretending his priorities were the ones he judged it would have been right to have. And all the while, he gave up prioritizing what was really important because he believed the right thing to do, after having caused the death of his wife and child, was to avenge them.

Lisbon's words started to make all the sense in the world. He had let his revenge turn him, change him into someone he wasn't. He had let hatred and sadness become the most important feelings inside him, ruling everything he did.

Van Pelt was so absolutely right, he thought once more. There were only two sides on this. Red John wasn't a player in this game; he controlled the game. All the time, Jane had been arrogantly assuming he was on the other side of the table, on the same level as the murderer, but he wasn't. He recognized that now. By trying to outsmart the team, he had served Red John's purposes. By trying to catch him alone, he had acted just the way Red John had expected him too, helping his strategy play out exactly the way he had wanted it to.

There had only been one time when Jane had felt as stupid as he felt now.

But then, if revenge was the wrong answer, then what was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to respond to the fact that a serial killer had been offended by his false psychic abilities and taken it out on his family? And continued to take it out on anyone he might care about?

Van Pelt approached him, bringing him back. "Working too hard?" she said, harshly.

"Thinking too hard," he retorted, distractedly, and then looked up at her. "I don't know what to do. What can I do?"

She bit her lip, pure anger in her eyes. "I don't know if I can trust you with anything."

Jane stood up. "Please," he said, quite impatiently, "I've told you everything I knew. All I care about now is finding Lisbon."

Something in his expression, or tone of voice, maybe, made her hesitate and some of that anger went away when she finally seemed to decide to say something. "We just got a call from a patrolling officer. The brown truck has been found."

Jane felt his heart jump inside his chest.

"The guy probably just ditched it along the way, but we're looking anyway."

Jane sighed. "Thanks for telling me."

"If you want to come…" she said, not looking him in the eyes, and then added, "maybe you can have some useful insight."

He wanted to hug her.

* * *

The same loud and weird sound woke Lisbon up again, and she noticed that, unfortunately, that wasn't a nightmare. Her head still ached, but it either ached a little less or she was growing used to the constant pain and it wasn't bothering her so much anymore. Her arm was still on top of the wound; she removed it, and she could feel how her sleeve was soaking with blood. At least, the wound didn't seem to be bleeding anymore. She tried to sit up again, but her whole body ached, especially her head, whose pain was multiplied with any shade of movement. So she gave up once again.

She heard the sounds as someone entered, the steps becoming audible, a door closing, more steps, the sound of plastic bags, the sound of other things she couldn't distinguish. Then, the sounds stopped altogether, until she only heard her own uneven breathing. Next, she heard steps again, approaching, until the door opened, someone entered and then the door closed again.

It was dark, but Lisbon could see him now, the bald guy from the gas station. He gave her that smile he had given her when he was pretending to be the kind small town man who lets a woman fill her car before him, when he was actually a psychopathic son of a bitch. Lisbon wished she could get up and kick his ass.

"You're looking better," he said. "Soon we're going to need to restrain you."

Lisbon imagined if her expression was giving away her wish to hurt him. He kneeled down and examined the wound on her forehead. "Like I said, it's ok."

She tried to think of how to hit him in a way that would knock him out long enough for her to escape, but he soon stood up again and walked away, closing the door behind him.

She hated herself for not being able to do anything, and tried to sit up again. Despite all the pain, she managed to sit, putting a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming. She had to put her other hand on the floor to keep from falling back down. Her head went dizzy and her vision went black, but she waited until it went away. She wouldn't lay back again.

The poem kept echoing in the back of her head, while she wondered what it was that Jane had hid from her. What meaning the poem had, which he knew and hadn't told her. The dizziness got worse, but she was trying to resist. Her vision was still black. She felt she was going to pass out, but she resisted. Until she lost consciousness again.

* * *

Cho didn't even look at Jane when the three of them got on the sedan. He didn't say anything as he drove, and didn't show any emotions, either. Van Pelt, sitting next to him, kept nervously shaking her leg.

A police car was parked behind the truck. Upon seeing the sedan, the officer got out of it, and waited for the agents.

"I didn't touch it, left it just for you. Forensics are on their way."

"Thank you, officer," Van Pelt said.

Cho didn't demonstrate if he heard the officer or not; he just put his latex gloves on and opened the door on the driver's side. "No fuel," he announced.

Van Pelt walked towards the other side of the truck, putting on her gloves as well. Jane followed her. She opened the door and they exchanged a dreadful look at the sight of several blood stains on the seat and dashboard.

She opened the glove compartment and started looking, being careful not to touch any of the stains. Looking at them, Jane imagined Lisbon's small figure lying on that seat, unconscious, bleeding from her forehead, and felt a tightness in his chest.

"Keys," said Van Pelt, showing Cho a keychain. "I wonder what they open."

Cho seemed frustrated in not finding anything so far. Jane observed it as he seemed to lose his calm, taking a pocket knife from his jacket pocket and starting to cut the driver's seat to search inside. When he found nothing, he kicked the tire, saying "damn it!" Then, he walked around the car and stood beside Van Pelt, who had just finished going through the glove department. "Mostly trash," she told him, letting him take her place.

Van Pelt entered the car through the other door and sat on the driver's seat, going through the "trash" again, probably wanting to make sure no details would go unnoticed. Cho was now cutting open the passenger seat and putting his hand inside the cavity to search. Some of the blood got onto his shirt and Jane observed his quiet yet troubled reaction to that.

But then, he reacted to something else. "A knife," he announced, before removing the object from inside the seat. Van Pelt stopped what she was doing to look. Jane moved closer. It was a kitchen knife, with a black, plastic handle. Cho examined it for a while and then bagged it. "I hope there's a print. I'm sick of so many dead ends." And he shut the door loudly. Jane continued to stare at the blood stains through the window.

Van Pelt shut the other door, too, but more quietly. "I found this, I thought maybe it was an address, but I don't think so," she said, looking at a small piece of yellow paper.

Jane was going to take it, but she didn't let him. "You're not wearing gloves," she said, sharply. Then she showed it to him, and he looked at it for a while; it said "Mayflower, 11-18 7." Cho approached. "Maybe it's a date," Jane said. "November eighteenth… Two thousand and seven?" It didn't sound right.

"I don't know," Van Pelt said, bagging the piece of paper. "But we'll check if Mayflower means anything."

Cho was already moving towards the sedan. "Let's leave the rest to forensics. It's impossible to use a car and never leave a print on it."

Jane was counting on that. They all were.

Later in the afternoon, forensics was done analyzing the car, and prints were found on it. The only problem was that they didn't match any records. They also didn't match the partial print found on the kitchen knife. So they had prints, but nothing conclusive about them.

"It's like these people don't exist," Rigsby commented, with a sigh of frustration.

"We're going to keep digging. Something must come up," Van Pelt said, but she was also frustrated, since her Mayflower clue had turned out a dead end as well.

Jane sat with the team, sorry that he had no valuable insights to share either.

"We have so many clues, but none connects to the other," Van Pelt said.

"Like a wicked jigsaw puzzle," Jane murmured.

At this moment, an officer approached them. "We have a picture for you. It was taken by an ATM machine, seems to fit your bald guy's description."

Jane stood up, unable to wait another second to see it. He recognized the dark circles and the rest of his features. "It's him, it's definitely him," he said, his voice failing.

* * *

The sound of a door slamming woke Lisbon up with a shudder. She could see, as she managed to open her eyes, that it was darker now; night had probably fallen. She heard muffled voices, but nothing that she could understand. So there was at least another man along with the bald one. Who were these people?

She heard steps approaching once again, and the door opening. She looked at the doorway, and saw a figure wearing something black that covered his whole body. She couldn't make out the face. It was really dark. The figure approached her, and, by the silhouette, she could tell it wasn't the bald guy.

"We meet at last," said a weird voice, a man's voice, but an odd one.

As he approached more and kneeled to look at her, she noticed he wore a mask.

"Tiger, tiger, burning bright in the forests of the night," he started, sending freezing chills through her spine. "What immortal hand or eye could frame thy fearful symmetry?"

Lisbon couldn't contain the involuntary way in which her whole body shook with fear as she finally understood the meaning of the poem.


	7. By The Road

_**I don't own anything.**_

_**Thanks for reading, hope you enjoy, and please review!**_

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7. BY THE ROAD

"Steve Carter," said Rigsby. "That's the son of a bitch's name".

He and Van Pelt had folders in their hands and Jane hoped there was something conclusive in them. Rigsby showed the data he had been able to pull from Carter's bank account.

"Nothing stands out except for a deposit made two months ago. Fifty thousand dollars."

"Could you get anything from the account that made the deposit?" Cho asked.

"No. Untraceable."

"Nothing stands out very much in his background check either," said Van Pelt. "His priors include only minor thefts, for one of them he did time. He owns a motorcycle, which we already knew," she threw a look in Jane's direction, "but the truck's not his, as we also knew. The prints found on it are, though."

"What about the print on the kitchen knife?" Jane asked.

"We're still working on a few databases, but still no match," she answered. "Carter doesn't own anything apart from the motorcycle, and his last address was a rented apartment near Sacramento. We sent agents there to check it out, but there are other people living there now and they don't know anything about him."

"It's like the guy disappeared without a trace," Rigsby said.

"Except that he was paid fifty grand for something," Cho added.

Jane sighed. Another dead end. He was sure these bits and pieces were left on purpose so the team would be running around in circles, to Red John's amusement.

* * *

After Red John's visit, the bald man had come and injected something in Lisbon's arm, despite her protest, that made her sleep for what seemed like long hours. When she woke up, her hands were tied behind her back and her feet were tied together. Another rope held the hands and feet's restraints together and into a hook high on the wall. "Damn it," she murmured, realizing she was tied because she felt better.

The pain on her head was almost gone now, and she managed to sit up easily, even with the restraints. She did feel something weird in her stomach, though, and it made a loud sound. She realized she was hungry. It felt so stupid to have such a normal and mundane reaction in such a situation.

Lisbon tried to stand up, and she needed to crawl near the wall so she could use it as support. She ended up standing, despite the difficulty and the strange feeling, sort of like pins and needles, in her legs. It felt good to stand up. She felt less vulnerable. She looked at the restraints again and sighed. She tried to walk, slowly at first, because her feet were tied, but then trying small jumps, towards the door, see if there was a way she could open it, but of course the rope wasn't that long and she bounced back, losing her balance and falling down.

She stood up again, with difficulty, and moved around slowly, testing the limits of the restraints and looking for anything that might allow her to escape. She didn't find anything. She sat down and started to test the knots that tied her. She forced them as much as she could, but all she managed was to hurt her wrists and ankles. The next thing she tried was to pass her legs between her arms, but that was too difficult and hurt too much. She knew it wasn't impossible, but after around twenty minutes trying, she gave up and decided to try again later.

Short of any more ideas, Lisbon just sat there for what felt like long hours, leaning on the wall, her stomach insisting more and more on its needs, the rest of her body becoming weak with the lack of food and water. She wondered if the team had any leads on where she might be. She wondered if Jane had told them what he had been hiding from her. She hated him so much right now that she longed to see him again just so she could hurt him. Badly.

She heard steps, all of a sudden, and the door opened. There was the bald man again, and he was carrying a black plastic bag. "How are you feeling? Better, I can tell."

Lisbon didn't answer. She avoided his eyes, starting to shake with the fear of what was in the bag. Was Red John going to come in and make her small, filthy little cell into his newest crime scene, her into his newest wife? But the bald man shut the door behind him. At least for now.

He came closer, and took a digital camera from the bag. "I say we record this special moment forever, what do you think?"

She glanced at his face. He smiled like a child on his birthday. "We're going to need some light, of course," he said, pulling a short string that hung from the ceiling, which turned on a lamp. Lisbon hadn't been able to see it up there, because it was so dark. Now, that faint light hurt her eyes as if it were a spotlight.

He turned the camera on. "Say hi, pretty girl," he said, pointing it at her, and she turned her head to face away from it. The bald man kneeled down near her and pulled her by her hair to make her look into the lens. "Let's not spoil our video, all right?"

Then she felt the swing, so strong that her vision became blurry for a moment. She tasted blood. "That didn't look so good," he said, grimly. "Let's try one more time, try to scream now, ok?"

Now, he punched her other cheek, with even more force, but she managed to make no sound. She wasn't going to scream on his demand. "Maybe you should start cooperating." He stood up, still filming, and kicked her stomach, making her finally let out a muffled sound and then gasp for air. "My boss told me you'd be difficult."

Lisbon was curling on the floor, still trying to catch her breath. She felt his hands pulling her hair again, forcing her to face him and his stupid camera. "There's no point resisting, my dear. When it's time for you to die, we're going to be filming, too, so you'd better get used to it."

"Screw you," she said, spitting at him.

"Bitch!" he yelled, letting go of her, standing up and kicking her chin. She couldn't contain a scream this time.

"I'm sure your friends are going to love this," he said, putting the camera back into the bag. "You know, they have no idea where you are. When they find you, it's going to be too late."

He left, and Lisbon felt despair taking over. Besides the pain, the idea that nobody was any close to finding her almost made her wish that this would be over soon. She started crying, sobs shaking her body.

* * *

Jane sat at the station, observing the agents pursuit further on their dead ends, as information on Lisbon's location remained none. Nobody knew or had seen anything. There was absolutely nothing to go on, but everyone worked hard anyway. A smile almost appeared on his lips as he thought that the station seemed so quiet without her bossing around, but he couldn't smile because he reminded himself he was the reason why she wasn't there.

He remembered how he would lie down on her office's couch watching her fill out paperwork, how the silence would work for both of them as they kept each other company nevertheless. He remembered how she would be always walking around the bullpen with a mug full of coffee, skipping meals, the case as her priority. She was so dedicated and so bound by the rules, trying to do everything by the book. But who was he to judge? That was her obsession, what she held on to. He had his own, and his was to kill a man.

Jane didn't know what to think of his obsession anymore. It had been the only thing that kept him alive, that made him think it was worth to get up every morning. But the truth is that his attempts to get to Red John had never been successful and innocent people ended up hurt instead.

Right now, the only thing he cared about was finding Lisbon. What he would care about after that, he could decide later. He refused to believe in the possibility that she might be dead. He wanted to believe she was strong enough to escape, to resist, at least until they were able to find her. They had to find her.

It was late now, around eleven thirty or something, but nobody seemed to want to stop working. Jane wished there was something useful he could do, and he though about taking his car and driving around, to see if he saw something. Twice had he done that and seen Steve Carter, what if the same thing happened tonight? He got up and took his suit jacket.

Van Pelt had fallen asleep on top of her computer's keyboard and Jane wanted to let her know where he was going, but he decided not to wake her. He found Rigsby near a window, eating something distractedly, and told him where he was going – which was nowhere in particular.

"If anything new happens, _please_ call me," he said.

Rigsby nodded, exhaustion clear in his expression.

Jane walked out of the station and towards his car, entered it and sat on the driver's seat, but before he could close the door, he noticed something that made him jump; there was a small envelope sitting on the passenger seat, with "Mr. Jane" written on it. He wished he had a pair of gloves, and almost took the envelope anyway, but hoping there might be usable prints, he took his phone and dialed Cho's number.

"Cho, come down here," he managed to say.

Soon, Cho, Rigsby and Van Pelt came down with a few officers to check it. Jane was already outside the car, and he had left the envelope where it sat. The agents put on their gloves, opened the car door and took it. Inside the envelope, there was a memory card.

"Let's get forensics to examine the car and the envelope," said Cho, "and let's see what's in this thing."

The only content of the memory card was a video file. Hesitantly, Van Pelt played it. They could all see Lisbon sitting on the floor, her hands and feet tied, her face looking pale and weak, a wound on her forehead. She faced away as Steve Carter's voice said "say hi, pretty girl." At least she was still alive, Jane thought, clenching his teeth.

Carter pulled her by her hair. Punched her. Then once again. Then kicked her. Jane could see she was trying as hard as she could not to make a sound. He felt a tear trying to fall from his right eye at the sight of her suffering. "My boss told me you'd be difficult," Carter said. Then he said they were going to film her death, too. Then he pulled her by her hair again and she spat at him, telling him to screw himself. So Lisbon. Then he hurt her again, and this time she screamed. That tear finally rolled down Jane's face.

There was a moment of silence after the video ended. Cho was the first to speak. "At least we know she's still alive," he said, a dreadful expression on his usually emotionless face. Van Pelt looked horrified when she faced the others. "What does this mean? Why did they send this to us?"

"To torture us," Jane said, another tear trying its way out. "To show us that while we have nothing to go on, she's being beaten, starved." He turned around and walked out of the room. He regretted being thankful she was alive when she was suffering so much that she probably wished she _was,_ indeed, dead.

* * *

Lisbon opened her eyes, realizing she had slept for a while, she didn't know how long. Her stomach still ached, but her chin ached most of all. She could still taste coagulated blood in the back of her mouth. She managed to sit up, with difficulty. She wished she could touch her own face with her hand, and she was so mad she was denied that simple movement that she wished she could break something.

There was a little daylight coming in, and Lisbon realized it was probably the beginning of the day, as she could hear the birds singing and barely no traffic sounds coming from the road. She remembered the bald guy filming her the day before, telling her he'd send it to her friends. "I'm sick of this crap," she murmured, furiously, and started trying to pass her legs between her arms again. All parts of her body ached very much, but she didn't care this time. She was really sick of that crap. She let out grunts of pain and occasionally whimpered, but she never gave up. She forced it so much that it felt like her elbows would break and her forearms would come off.

It felt like an hour had passed and still not much progress, but still, Lisbon didn't give up. She screamed in pain when she was finally able to reach her thighs, but she was also happy because the worst part was over. She forced more, unwilling to stop at anything. She couldn't believe it when she reached her knees, and then, almost easily, got one leg out after the other.

Lisbon smiled, triumphantly, looking at her hands, but quickly proceeded to trying to loosen the rope with her teeth. It wasn't easy; it was too tight and it had tightened even more with the pressure she had just put. She sat up and loosened her feet – that was easy. Without the rope, she could see how sore her ankles were. Her wrists should be worse. Next, she loosened the rope that tied her feet to her hands, but she couldn't do anything about the knot that tied her hands to a hook on the wall.

She stood up and started trying to get the rope off the hook. She pulled, threw the rope up, jumped, tried everything she knew, everything she could. Nothing worked, but she kept on trying. What else was there to do inside that hole, anyway? After about twenty or thirty minutes trying, like magic, the rope fell to the ground, as the hook came off the wall. She had to contain a scream of joy.

Next, there was the door, and Lisbon examined the lock and the hinges to see what she could do. It looked like the hinges might give way with some good blows, but the sound would probably alert her kidnappers. "What if they're not here?" she murmured to herself as she figured sitting and waiting was not a plan.

She backed up a little and then ran and threw herself full force against the door. It was even harder than she had expected it to be, and the side of her body ached tremendously. She contained a scream and tried again. She wasn't giving up. She thought, after six or seven times, that if anybody were there, they would have come by now. So she continued, until she practically couldn't feel the pain anymore.

The hinges finally gave way, and Lisbon kicked the door a few more times to create an opening she could go through. Everything was dark, and she didn't want to search the rest of the house and risk getting caught or something, so when she thought she saw a window, she ran to it and found a way to open it. She couldn't believe it when she fell on the ground and noticed the bright sunshine. Her eyes couldn't take it, so she squinted and stood up, not wasting a second looking around; she just started running for it, in the direction of the faint sounds of the road, her hands still tied and dragging a large piece of rope behind her.

Lisbon didn't pay attention to how long she ran on the tall grass, through the trees, she just noticed at some point that she was getting close to the road, and when she reached it and stopped running, she finally felt how tired she was. No cars were passing, but she waited. When a blue sedan started approaching in the distance, she started trying to make a signal that she needed it to stop. And it did. The man behind the wheel lowered the passenger seat's window.

"I'm a state officer," Lisbon started, breathless. "Could you give me a ride?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am," the man said, "but a lot of people try that one around here. They come looking like they're hurt and ask for a ride, then they kill you and steal your car."

"Then don't give me a ride," Lisbon said, desperate, waving her tied hands. "Just untie me and let me use your cell phone."

The man seemed to think about it. Then, he leaned and helped her with the ties. "When they're free, put them up where I can see them."

Lisbon almost laughed. "I'd show you my badge if I had it with me." She put her hands up. "Now will you let me use your phone?"

Hesitantly, the man handed her the cell phone. "Who are you going to call?"

"A CBI agent, my colleague."

"CBI? What the hell's that?" he asked, incredulously. "You know what? I think you're nuts. Give that back."

"No way," Lisbon said, and she was already dialing the number.

"Then keep it," the man said, probably scared of who she might be calling, and started to drive away.

Lisbon wanted to say she'd get him arrested, but she was thankful for the phone. She listened as the call was made and it started ringing on the other end.

* * *

Everyone had worked all night on Jane's car, the envelope and the memory card. No prints were found, and, from the video, all forensics were able to determine were the possible models of cameras which could have made the file. Dead ends, like always. They were starting to get desperate. Van Pelt was so nervous she couldn't sit down; she walked around the station, drinking coffee, checking her computer, making phone calls. Rigsby ate more than usual, probably his way of coping, while Cho tried to remain the strong one.

Jane didn't know what to think or what to do. He followed the agents wherever they went, because he couldn't think of a better way to help. The truth was none of them knew what to do, because there _was_ actually nothing else they could do, but they _had _to do something.

At around eight thirty in the morning, though, Van Pelt came from some part of the station, looking nervous, saying "the print on the knife, we've found whose it is."

Rigsby, Cho and Jane stood up. "It belongs to a man named Raoul Mendes, he's been listed as missing for the last ten years."

"Were you able to pull anything about the guy?" Cho asked.

"Not much, but he owns a house thirty miles from here. What if she's there?"

No one said anything else, they just started getting prepared, with bulletproof vests and guns and, as soon as everything was ready, nods were communication enough to tell one another it was time to go.

Rigsby, Cho, Van Pelt and Rigsby went in the SUV and Jane took his car. Local PD officers joined them as backup. Jane felt his hands shaking as he drove, wondering if Lisbon would be there when they arrived, and if she would be alive. He followed the SUV and police cars followed him, with sirens turned off.

Then, his phone rang. He took it and saw the caller was Cho. "Hello," he said.

"Lisbon called. She was really there, but she escaped. She's by the road, waiting for us."

Jane didn't manage to say anything, he just shut his phone in order not to lose control over the wheel, and felt it as an involuntary smile moved his facial muscles. She was going to be all right, he couldn't believe it. He had hoped she would escape, but that video of her all tied up, being tortured, hadn't helped. He wanted to drive faster, he wanted to see her soon. He thought that, as soon as he saw her, he would want to hold her in his arms and make sure she was really there. He couldn't wait.

* * *

It had been such a relief to hear Cho's voice on the other end. Lisbon had tried to tell him where she was, but she didn't really know. He had an idea where she might be, and described it, and she said it was most probably where she was, but in fact, she had no idea. She just hoped they were right.

They were going to break into the place, see if they found the bald man and Red John or at least any clues, but Lisbon didn't expect them to find anything. She knew that, if she had been able to escape, they would probably be long gone when the team arrived. Still, there was the possibility that the bald man had simply gone out for a while and left her alone, and, in that case, he could be coming back really soon. She had to watch the road in case she saw his noisy motorcycle. Even though she knew that, when she saw it, she'd be back to captivity. She hoped the team got there first, and she had asked Cho for a gun. She was going in with them.

She just stood there, knowing that, if the bald man or Red John were anywhere near and looked for her, they would find her. But she trusted the team to get there first. She had to watch the road. The sun was incredibly hot, and she felt the sweat coming profusely from her every pore. She was intent, though, on watching the road. No car would pass without her seeing it.

The sun seemed to grow hotter every second Lisbon spent watching the road carefully, turning her head towards every movement or sound. She had to squint because the sunlight was still bothering her eyes. Still, she watched the road.

"Come on, come on, come on…" she said in a low voice, waiting for a sign that the team was arriving, but there was no indication of any vehicles approaching her spot. She shifted her weight, starting to feel uncomfortable. Her sore wrists were aching and itching, and the heat of the sun seemed to increase the pain in her injuries.

Lisbon was suddenly painfully aware of the lack of food and water during the last couple of days, and her whole body felt weak. At that exact moment, she started to feel sick. She felt bile starting up her throat and going down again, in an uncomfortable cycle. She wiped the sweat from her forehead with her arm as black spots started to blur her vision.

She tried to hold it together, she had to watch the road. She tried to sit on the pavement, she couldn't pass out now, she thought she heard an engine sound, but she no longer could see when she moved her head towards the sound: everything had gone black. She expected to feel the pavement with her hand as she was getting down to sit, but she never felt it. When she hit the ground full force, only gravity was at work; she was already out.


	8. This Is Over

_**I must confess this fic is being harder to write than I had expected it to. Whenever I try to get into Jane's or Lisbon's minds, I get confused as hell – I write, erase, rewrite, think, think, think…**__** This chapter was a tough one to finish. I'm still not sure it's finished, but I figured that if I didn't publish it, I would never consider it finished. I hope you enjoy it. I don't own anything. Please review.**_

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8. THIS IS OVER

The SUV slowed down and stopped, the doors opening almost instantly. Jane stopped his car too, and got out of it, noticing the agents ran in the same direction, and ran behind them. There was a body lying next to the road. He recognized her instantly, Lisbon, unconscious. His heart seemed to stop beating.

Cho had her head in his hand, and called her name, his other hand moving her hair away from her face. "Lisbon," he called again, shaking her a little bit. Van Pelt, Rigsby and Jane hovered. She moved her head in response to Cho's attempts. "Give her some room," Cho said, to the other three. Rigsby and Van Pelt backed up. Jane couldn't.

Lisbon opened her eyes. Jane couldn't contain a smile as the sunlight came in contact with the beautiful shade of green in her eyes. When she realized she was awake and saw Cho's face, she wondered if she had been out for too long.

"Where's the gun I asked you for?" she said, trying to get up.

Jane and Van Pelt exchanged a relieved look, and smiled at Lisbon's first words. Rigsby approached her and, along with Cho, helped her up.

"You need to see a doctor," Cho said.

"I'm fine," she replied, and started walking in some direction, she didn't quite know where yet. There were a lot of police cars and the officers were putting on bullet-proof vests. She decided that was the direction she was going.

Jane and Van Pelt followed her. He was worried, did she really intend to put a vest on, get a gun and invade the place where she had been held captive? He walked towards her and touched her arm lightly to call her attention. He had to contain the impulse of hugging her. "Lisbon…" he started.

"Don't talk to me," she said, directing him a furious look and violently removing her arm from his touch. She had to contain herself, because she felt an urge to hit him. What was he doing here anyway? Why had the team allowed him to stay after what he had done?

"I'm sorry," Jane said, truthfully, but she ignored him, stopping at her destination and already finding herself a vest. Cho came in her direction, bringing a gun.

"I think you shouldn't go in," he stated once more, probably knowing it would be no use, as he handed her the gun and a pair of handcuffs.

"Thanks, Cho," she replied simply. "What's the plan?" She felt the need to do something. Maybe it was adrenaline. She just felt like shooting something. Or someone.

Jane knew there was no chance of talking to Lisbon before the operation, and he had no hopes about that, either. He knew nobody would be there, nothing would be found. The reason Lisbon had been able to escape was that Red John had let her. Probably, when she found the means to get out, he had already been gone.

But that didn't matter. He wouldn't care if nothing was found inside the house. At least she was standing there, wearing a bulletproof vest and holding a gun, furious at him like she should be. Alive. Van Pelt approached Lisbon and hugged her, like Jane wanted to, and Lisbon made that face she made when something completely unexpected and rather awkward happened. Jane had to smile.

"Thank God," Van Pelt said, letting go of Lisbon, who was quite embarrassed.

"Well, let's get down to business," Lisbon said, anxious to get moving.

The agents joined the officers, who were starting to move towards the house. Cho ordered Jane to stay back, and he obeyed. Lisbon felt chills as she ran down the same path she had just run as fast as she could to escape. After a while, they reached the small house. Agents and officers moved into position around it. Cho was in charge of the operation and, on his count, officers and agents moved in. Lisbon moved carefully, pointing her gun ahead, ready for whatever came.

Voices of officers moving around and shouting "clear" filled the space, and Lisbon wasn't surprised that nothing was found. She had hoped there would still be something to find there, but she suspected that, if Red John and his accomplice hadn't run before her, they certainly had while she was out by the road.

And there really was nothing to be found. Forensics would check anyway, but Lisbon had no hope they would find any fingerprints or other substantial evidence. She went into the room where she had been kept, and felt shaken, like she was revisiting the moments when she was being tortured, when she had suffered, when she had believed her life would end. There was blood on the floor. Before she could shout "clear", Cho came into the room behind her. He looked at the blood, and Lisbon clarified before he could say anything, "it's mine."

She turned around and left the room. In another room, there was a small table and, on top of it, Lisbon found her original gun, badge, handcuffs and cell phone. She wanted them back, but they probably would have to be dusted for prints. She left them there and shouted "clear!"

The group gathered again, with nothing found. Lisbon put away her gun and left, feeling like she needed to get the hell out of that place. She found Cho on her way, and held his arm. "Hey, do you think you could drive me to the station?"

"I'll drive you, but to the hospital instead," he said firmly, no room for objection this time. Lisbon didn't protest; she really just wanted to leave that place. When they got to the road, Lisbon saw Jane leaning on the side of his car, his expression blank. When he saw her, he stared, without moving from where he was. She hated him so much right now that she looked away before she could respond to any urges to do violence against him. Cho shouted in his direction, though: "nothing."

Lisbon imagined that he probably had a smug expression, meaning he had known all along. Like she had, too. She just entered the car, put on her seatbelt and sighed, relieved to be sitting. Cho sat next to her, shut the door and started the engine. Lisbon saw, as Cho maneuvered the car, that Jane was getting into his car.

Jane intended to follow Cho and Lisbon wherever they were going. He needed to talk to her. He needed to explain everything. He needed her to know he was truly sorry and had finally understood that he couldn't keep things from her concerning Red John. He didn't know exactly what to say, but he knew what he meant.

He followed the SUV into the local hospital's parking lot. Lisbon saw him parking his car in the rearview mirror, and sighed in fury. She got out of the car and walked fast, intending to leave him behind. Cho walked beside her, and it was as if he was supporting her in her decision to ignore Jane. She thought about how supportive of her Cho was, even though most of it was done without any words. He was a good friend.

Lisbon knew her injuries looked bad and she was all dirty, and people looked at her because of that, but right now she didn't feel anything. Maybe it was still adrenaline.

"Lisbon," she heard Jane's voice behind her as she walked through the hallways. "Lisbon, we need to talk." She walked faster, intent on not looking back. Then she felt his hand holding her arm. "Lisbon, please."

She swiftly turned around, and before he even knew she was in front of him, she slapped his face. He would normally have whined about it, but he was silent, conscious of his guilt. He simply kept a hand on the spot. It hurt a little. Her angry, tearful eyes hurt much more, though.

"What the hell are you thinking?" she inquired, raising her voice. Cho stood back, waiting, no apparent intention to interfere. "What do you think you can say to me right now to justify what you did?"

"Nothing," Jane answered, sincerely. "I know nothing I say will justify it, but I do have my reasons. I kept information from you intending to protect you."

"No, you didn't! You kept information from me with the intention of catching Red John alone. Isn't that right? With that stupid gun of yours?"

Jane sighed. "Yes. You're right. But one of the reasons I wanted to catch him alone was to keep you and the team from harm. It's true."

"Yes but you did cause harm this time," she approached him, saying those words accusatively and sarcastically. "Before attacking me, that bald guy tested me. He said _tiger, tiger_, to see how I'd respond."

Jane looked down, guilt washing over him. Lisbon continued.

"_Tiger, tiger, burning bright_," she repeated, only inches away from his face. "If I had known what it meant, I could have acted on it. Grabbed my gun, or something. But I simply thought the guy was speaking nonsense and kept my guard down!"

Jane looked at her again, guilt and sadness in his eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I know I was wrong. I shouldn't have kept anything from you. It was stupid."

"It's good that you know that, maybe you'll remember not to act stupid again next time," Lisbon lowered her tone, taking a step back. But then, she approached him again. "Actually, there won't be a next time. It's also my fault, because I should have never let it go this far."

Jane waited for what she was going to say next, knowing it would be bad. A fugitive tear managed to escape her eye as she said, her voice breaking. "You're off the case. And I'm going to get you out of CBI, too. This is over."

He didn't know what to say. What to think. He searched for words in his mind, but he didn't know where to start looking. Lisbon tried to control her tears again as she grabbed handcuffs from her pocket. "And, by the way, you're under arrest for obstruction of justice."

Jane was so shocked that he offered no resistance as Lisbon forcefully grabbed his hands and put the cuffs on them. Then she left, not facing him anymore, and said, to Cho, "take him for me, please."

Jane watched as Lisbon left, walking fast. The people who had been watching started to go back to their own business, and Cho approached him. "Let's go," he said, the first words he had directed to Jane in a long time. Jane walked, unthinkingly, his arm under the firm grip of his colleague.

* * *

Lisbon didn't really have any serious injuries; basically they needed to be uninfected and covered. The wound on her forehead needed a few stitches, but that was it; after less than two hours, she was free to go, even though the doctor recommended complete rest for the day.

Van Pelt picked her up. The rookie agent didn't hide her happiness at Lisbon's well being, but it was clear she was trying to control herself not to speak too much.

"Do you want to eat first or take a bath?" Van Pelt asked.

Lisbon didn't know the answer to that, she just looked at her colleague, shrugging.

"Then I'll take you to eat and then leave you at the motel, where you can bathe, then sleep… All right?"

Lisbon smiled. "Sounds good, thank you."

When they were sitting at a diner, waiting for the food, Van Pelt said, like she was unable to contain herself any longer, "we were all very worried."

Lisbon's answer was a smile.

"We worked day and night trying to find you," she went on. "We did all we could."

"Thank you," Lisbon said, a little embarrassed.

Van Pelt bit her lip and Lisbon noticed there was something more she wanted to say.

"Jane was there the whole time," she started, but Lisbon didn't want to hear anything about Jane.

"Let's not talk about him," she said, still waving her hands impatiently. "I don't care if he was worried. What he did was wrong and that was probably the reason why he thought he had an obligation to help."

"But…"

"Enough, Van Pelt."

The young agent nodded in defeat. Not very long after that, Lisbon's food arrived, and she realized how hungry she was. As she ate, she asked Van Pelt to update her on all the details about the investigation.

After that, Van Pelt took her to the motel room where she had been staying until she was taken, and ran her a bath. When she was leaving, Lisbon thanked her.

"You didn't have to do all this."

"Yes, I did," was her simple answer. "See you later, boss."

Lisbon took off her clothes and slipped into the bathtub. The first half hour was spent getting rid of all the dirt. Then, she just laid back and relaxed. She tried not to think about what had happened to her, but that was impossible. She couldn't forget Red John speaking to her with his weird voice, only inches away from her face, and the dreadful feeling that he could, at any moment, take a knife from one of his pockets and execute her.

Something else she couldn't remove from her mind was the torture session performed by the bald man – Steve Carter was his name, she had just found out – especially planned for the camera, whose video was sent straight to her colleagues. Van Pelt had told her that they had left the memory card inside Jane's car, in an envelope with his name written on it. The rookie agent had tried to start telling her about how Jane seemed shocked and how he cried watching the video, but she didn't care about his guilt. At this point, that was exactly what he should be feeling. The thought reminded her that he was in a cell at that same moment.

She didn't know what to think of him right now. He had always been someone she liked despite his silly pranks, his irritating behavior and his arrogance, maybe she liked him even a little too much, which always made her cut him some slack, more than she should. But what he had done was betrayal. Now, if she forgave him, she wouldn't be cutting him some slack; she would be accepting betrayal. And she couldn't do that.

He had come after her to tell her he was sorry. What was that any good for? That didn't help with anything. It was easy to make mistakes and then be sorry. And, especially in Jane's case, he had no problem in saying he was sorry when he didn't really mean it. How could she be sure he was really sorry?

She wished she could block those thoughts, but they kept coming back. The truth was that she had always expected Jane to do something like this on behalf of his revenge, what she had never expected was how much that would hurt her.

A long time had passed since they had started working together, and Lisbon had expected him to have learned something from working closely with law enforcement officers; that he would have learned a little about how criminals should really be punished, about right and wrong.

More than that, she could see it now, she had also expected him to care a little bit more about her and the team after so much time working together. Instead, he had dismissed them in the first opportunity, hiding things from them, an act that could easily have cost her life. She couldn't understand how he could not have seen how dangerous what he was doing was, so she could only conclude that he knew about the risks all along, but didn't care. Even though she knew he had far too many faults, she would never have imagined he would prioritize his revenge over the lives of innocent people, especially his colleagues. But that was exactly what he had done.

She hated the fact that she was so hurt by what he had done. She hated the fact that she should have known better not to trust him, but she had trusted him. With her life. Tears had started rolling down her face, but it took her some time to realize it. When she did, she cried even harder, because being so sad because of him was also unbearably irritating.

Suddenly, the image of the envelope with Jane's name on it, containing a memory card with a video of her being tortured came back into her mind, and she wondered if Red John's objective in kidnapping her was getting to Jane – but he obviously didn't care about her enough for that to actually get to him. Had he really cried while watching the video or was that just Van Pelt trying to set things right between them?

Lisbon then decided that bath had already taken long enough. She put on a bathrobe and went straight to bed. Before she even realized she was so tired, she had already fallen asleep.

* * *

As Jane sat in the backseat of the SUV, handcuffed, he saw a glimpse of what could possibly be his future. He imagined himself there, in a CBI car, his hands tied, on his way to jail, after killing Red John. Like a criminal. Even though his crime was killing a criminal. The scene would most likely be the same; hurt and disappointed, Lisbon would arrest him and turn her back on him.

Cho didn't make much of a big deal of the fact that he was arresting Jane; in fact he didn't seem to be taking it very seriously, even though he did lock him up in that cell and left him behind.

Jane sat down and tried to imagine how it would feel to be inside a jail cell right after having pulled the trigger on Red John. If it would feel rewarding enough; if he'd be sitting in a jail cell, happy to be there because he had fulfilled his purpose. Because sitting there knowing he was there for having ultimately caused Lisbon's kidnapping certainly didn't feel any good at all.

The worst part hadn't been the handcuffs, or being slapped in the face; the worst part had been her eyes, full of sorrow. Her wounds, her tears. Knowing he had caused her all that pain. For that, he deserved to be locked in that cell.

He sighed, wondering if Lisbon would really charge him. He would normally have a good idea of what she might do, but there had never been a situation in which she had been so mad and disappointed in him, so he really couldn't tell at all. Anyway, he didn't even know if he wanted to get out of jail. He felt so guilty that he felt like he was being treated accordingly for the first time.

* * *

When Lisbon woke up, it was night already. For a moment, she didn't remember where she was; it felt like she had been asleep for a week, and that the world had clearly not stopped going round in the meantime. She turned the nightstand lamp on and got up, walking towards the bathroom to wash her face. That helped her feel more awake. The memories of recent past events were loading up in her mind, like in a slow computer.

When she finally remembered everything that had happened to her, she felt a little scared. It was as if she was unable to make sense of the seriousness of what had happened to her and of how scared she had been. The thing was that she had never allowed herself to feel like a victim; when things happened, she had always had to look out for her brothers, so she would always have to be the strong one. The truth was she felt relieved, now, that she was all right. And like it was so typical of her, she felt the need to go on with her life. She decided to get dressed and go to the station.

Jane was sitting on the floor, throwing up a coin, continuously, when Lisbon saw him from the hallway. She walked slowly in his direction. When he saw her, he immediately stopped what he was doing and stood up. She looked beautiful, even though he could see she wasn't wearing any make up and her hair looked like it had dried naturally. She wore simple clothes and, of course, she had her badge affixed to her belt. He smiled.

"I found a coin in here. In a jail cell," he said, in a quiet voice. "What are the chances?"

He couldn't tell what she was thinking from her expression, which was serious, but didn't show rage or anything. Her bangs hid a bandage on her forehead, and her chin still looked a little swollen. Her eyes gave away that she had been sleeping until very recently. After a long pause, during which she didn't respond in any manner to his remark about the coin, she finally spoke.

"I only came here to let you know that we're dropping charges. You'll be released soon." She made a pause. "However, I'll still evaluate your situation in the CBI."

Even though her voice sounded somewhat foreign to him, maybe because of how her whole demeanor evidenced a deliberate wish to keep a distance from him, maybe because she was speaking in an aggravated tone, it still sounded wonderful to him at that moment. Not so much because of the words. It actually took him some time to absorb the information.

Lisbon turned around and started walking away.

"Hey, wait," he pleaded, and she could hear desperation in his voice. Or was she imagining it? "I need to talk to you, I really do."

Even though he didn't know what to say.

"We have nothing to talk about," she replied, her back still turned.

"Please, you've got to hear me out. I need you to understand. Leave me here, locked up, but listen to me first."

She turned around, and now, her façade was over, because hurt and disgust were all over her face as she took a few steps towards him, saying, "don't you try to manipulate me with this little dramatic act, you son of a bitch."

He looked down. "It's not an act," he said, quietly. And then looked at her again. "Come in here, please. Sit with me, let's talk."

She was going to say something, but contained herself, clenching her teeth instead. Then she shook her head, looking down. After a long pause, she finally looked up at him. "The truth is that most of it is my fault."

"How can it be your fault?" he asked, puzzled.

"Jane, the day you told me you would find a way to get to Red John before us, that day, you warned me that you were going to betray me."

"That's not what I did–"

"That's exactly what you did. You told me that you were going to go behind my back. And that's what you did. That day, we were done. Whatever partnership we had, it ended then. My mistake was I insisted on trusting you. I tried to hold it together, I tried to… I couldn't see, I didn't _want_ to see, that there was nothing left to hold."

On the last part, her voice was no more than a whisper. She watched as a tear rolled down his face, and felt her eyes involuntarily water as well. She remembered Van Pelt telling her he had cried watching the video. Maybe it was true, after all.

"Betraying you wasn't what I meant to do. I meant to hunt him down on my own, like I told you. Because I felt it was what I should do. And because I'd rather you and the team would stay away from him. I was stupid enough to think he would agree to keep it between me and him."

"And now, that you've realized you were wrong?" she asked. "What are your plans? I'd like to know."

"I have no plans," he said. "All I know is that going it alone is no longer a plan. Yet, I couldn't want revenge against him more than I do now."

He came as close to her as the bars allowed him. "It's like an addiction to me. It's as if I had resorted to alcohol, or heroine. Instead, I resorted to revenge."

Lisbon couldn't help being surprised by his sudden openness.

"While you were gone," he went on, "I realized what you'd meant with letting it turn me. I had been telling myself daily that nothing else mattered to me, but I was lying to myself. There are things that matter to me. I still have things to lose."

She felt disturbed by his words, and didn't know whether to believe them or not.

"Open this up," he pleaded again.

She couldn't say why, but she decided to do it. "Officer," she called. When the officer approached, she said, "open up, please."

As soon as the officer was gone, Jane came out of his cell in response to a sudden, recurrent urge, and held her in his arms. Lisbon was startled at first, and resisted a little, but she couldn't fight his strength as both his arms involved her tightly.

"I'm sorry," he said against her hair. "I'm not asking you to forgive me, I just need you to know how sorry I am."

Something in the way he said that and in the way he held her told her gut he really meant it. Nothing else told her to believe him right now, but it was her cop's instinct to trust her gut. And that was usually the right decision, so she followed her instinct and wrapped her arms around him. In response, he tightened his grip around her even more. He managed to feel the relief he hadn't yet been able to fully experience. Now it finally felt like she was back, that everything that was happening was real. And she was there, in his arms, alive.

Even though Lisbon felt comfortable in his arms and realized that she also needed that hug, as much as him, she still had to remind herself of what he _had_ done. No matter how sorry he was. So she hurriedly put a hand on his chest and pushed him away.

"Okay, that's enough," she said, avoiding his eyes.

"Lisbon, listen to me. Please, look at me," he begged, lifting her chin up so she would meet his gaze. "I will never lie to you or hide anything from you again. Ever. I know my promises aren't very trustworthy at this point, but I mean what I'm saying."

Tears were starting to accumulate in her eyes and she struggled not to let them out. "Look…" she pleaded, this time, "I need some time, okay? I need some time to think all this through. To decide what to do with you. I need some time away from you."

"I understand," Jane replied, trying to hide his disappointment and withdrawing his touch from her face.

"You're free to go," she said, and called out over her shoulder, "officer!"

When the officer arrived, she told him, "Please, help Mr. Jane to his personal effects and escort him out, will you?"

The officer nodded, and motioned for Jane to follow him. He obeyed, not taking his eyes from her. "If you need anything, please, don't hesitate to call me, all right?"

"Jane, just go, please," she said, her voice almost a whisper.

She was looking down. Jane knew that she wanted him gone so she could break down and cry. She knew that, too.


	9. New Beginning

_**Guys, let me describe to you my situation as I wrote most of this chapter: I was spending the weekend at the beach, so I was sitting down in the porch, with my computer on my lap, late at night, hearing the sound of the waves, quite high on champagne (don't ask…), and I just started to write. It just came out like that (well, not everything; some of it had to be redone so as not to sound like a drunk person blabbering). Just know that, if I hadn't spent the weekend at the beach, this chapter would probably be very different, and so would the rest of the story, since this chapter originates so much of what is yet to come… Please enjoy & review!**_

_**Oh, and Happy Holidays!**_

* * *

9. NEW BEGINNING

Jane had checked out of the motel the night he was released from jail. He did so because he wanted to respect Lisbon's wish to be away from him for some time. He drove on the road for a while and checked into another motel, in the next town, to spend the night, with the objective of leaving those grounds the next morning. Not that he had a destination in mind, but he found himself welcoming the idea of being away from everything for a while.

The next morning, he knew where he was going: home. Not to Sacramento; he had practically moved into that CBI abandoned room that he had found, and he knew he couldn't go there. Instead, he was driving to his house, in Malibu. If he had to rethink his plans for Red John, there would be no better place to do that than where it all had started.

He traveled early, and when he arrived in Malibu it was only a little after eleven. He stopped to have lunch; he felt extremely hungry, because he hadn't had anything for breakfast. Then, he drove straight to the house. As he parked his car and looked around, he remembered how it used to look, when the garden was taken care of, when it was inhabited by a family. He let out a sigh, and turned his key on the front door lock.

Entering the barely-lit hall and living room, seeing the space without any furniture, he remembered about when he had just bought the property. How it needed some repairs and adjustments here and there, how they still had to go shopping for furniture. He continued walking, on his usual way to and up the stairs. He stopped at the room where his daughter used to sleep. He entered it and contemplated its emptiness, mirroring his heart, now, looking at it for the thousandth time.

He walked out of the room and continued until he reached his final destination: his bedroom, where they had been found, brutally murdered. The room where it all had happened, where his life had been ended for him. He stared for a long time at the smiley face on the wall. He tried to imagine the man doing it, actually leaning against the wall and running his fingers on it on the shape of the face.

Sitting down on the mattress on the floor, he asked himself if he would actually have the courage to kill Red John. He knew he wanted to, he knew he planned to, but he thought about the actual moment when he would point a gun at the man. Would he really have the guts to just pull the trigger? It was true he had already pulled the trigger on a man and killed him, but that was not something he had decided or planned. The man was going to kill Lisbon, so there was no decision to make. It was simply defense.

For some reason, he started to see the difference that he and Lisbon had argued so much about. The difference between defense and revenge. The difference between pulling the trigger to save your or someone else's life and premeditated murder. Even if this murder could prevent other deaths, there was a difference between the two, because Jane knew he was capable of one, which he had already done, but now started to doubt if he was capable of the other.

On the other hand, was he capable of accepting that being arrested and judged was punishment enough for Red John? Would he feel avenged if the murderer of his family's fate was decided in a court of law? But what if the prison failed, and he ran? Or if there was not enough evidence to convict him in court, and he walked? He would never be able to accept it if he walked.

Trying to get to him alone had proven to be a bad plan, but if Lisbon decided to fire him from the CBI, he couldn't count on the team, either. That was actually a possibility he wasn't exactly ready to consider, because he would obviously not allow himself to be off the case, and, not being with the CBI, he would have to pursuit it on his own, something he didn't want to consider as a plan. The last time he had been taken off the Red John case, the murderer executed a whole team just to have him back on it.

The only thing he was able to decide was he didn't want to risk the lives of the team members any more than they already did just by being on the case. After Lisbon's kidnapping, he wouldn't want to take any risks. So, if he was allowed back with the CBI, he would keep the promise he had made to her and would never hide any facts from her again. But what would happen when he was face to face with Red John… he found that hard to determine at the moment.

* * *

As the night came and everything fell silent, he felt as alone as ever. He decided to go down the stairs and go into the terrace, where he had never been again since everything had happened. It was horribly dirty, but he could watch the waves and hear their sound. As a child, his father had taught him how to cup his hand around his ear to pretend he was hearing the sound of the sea. As an adult, he had wanted to live somewhere he could hear the real sound, and he had chosen that house, facing the Pacific.

These days, he didn't even feel like he had a right to want anything. And he asked himself how much of that was what he really felt and how much of it was what he forced himself to feel, like when he'd force himself not to acknowledge his feelings for Lisbon. He asked himself what he would want if he could allow himself to want something rather than what he believed he should want – namely, revenge against Red John. And it was difficult to even try and formulate an answer.

Maybe, in the short term, he would want to continue working with the CBI. And that depended much on Lisbon's decision. What would she decide? If she allowed him back in the team, maybe it wouldn't mean that she had forgiven him, but maybe it would mean she didn't hate him that much, that she could still stand him around her. And Jane was suddenly conscious that it was important for him to know that she didn't hate him.

He wanted to call her. Better than that, he wanted to see her, see if her injuries were getting better, see her irritated face looking back at him, bring her some fruit, watch her eat. He thought that maybe, in a parallel reality, where the circumstances didn't involve hatred, crime, revenge, death, sadness, and guilt, he would like to bring Lisbon here, where they could watch the waves together, where he could see her hair blowing with the wind and her green eyes shining under the moonlight, where they would banter and she would be mad, but not _really_ mad, at him, and would look at him with that almost smile in the middle of her best annoyed expression.

But in this reality, he had lost a wife and a child, and he had to do something about it. He couldn't escape this feeling, that he had to do something about it. It was his addiction. It was how he had known to cope. It was what he knew to go back to. That's what he had kept the house for. He would go there, stare at those empty rooms, empty of everything, look at that face, and feed on those feelings. It was self-destructive, but were any addictions self-constructive?

With everything that had happened, he knew that he had to completely change his strategy. He had to try and read Red John; that was what he did with all the killers they investigated, why couldn't he do it in the same way concerning the serial killer? He certainly could read Jane, understand how his mind worked, penetrate the complicated games sorrow and guilt played in his mind even better than him.

All he knew about Red John was that he liked to cut women and make a show of it, almost as if it were his art. Conventional psychology would say those women represented an unrealized desire to exercise power over women in general and probably specific women in his life – his mother, the popular girl in school he would never have the courage to talk to, a boss, maybe.

That would probably mean he had grown up a shy, self-conscious kid, but with a powerful personality inside that he didn't have enough confidence to liberate. That had probably created a conflict between what he wanted to do and what he considered himself capable to do, until, at some point, a rupture in his mind processes had made him allow himself to do what he believed he wanted to do and express himself in the way he had never been able to – and the consequences were more extreme than his sick mind could ever comprehend.

He had probably found in Jane the opposite of what he had always been or allowed himself to be; the fact that someone could actually behave the way Jane did and manipulate people into playing the parts he wanted them to in his games must have been unbearable to the boy who had never been able to leave his mother's shadow and overcome her power over him, as well as express his feelings towards people, especially women.

So Jane would be his matching counterpart, his perfect adversary, and along with fulfilling his need and lust for blood, he now also needed to continually win this game against Jane; that way, he would feel like he finally had the power he had desired to have over women, as well as he would have won over any other men who could possibly be competition to him, all this making him feel as powerful as he had always wished to be.

Jane realized he had played the game exactly the way Red John had wanted him to, all along. He had always acted in the way he was supposed to. He would feed on the breadcrumbs he left behind, even though he knew they would lead nowhere, because he couldn't control himself into not doing so. He would withdraw himself from any human contact, letting guilt be the only feeling he would listen to. He was playing by Red John's rules.

He remembered Lisbon, telling him he should have plans other than Red John, that he needed to find something good to hold on to. And it made all the sense in the world. Of course, that shouldn't be easy. That was an addiction, like he had told her, and it was hard to behave rationally around it. Still, he understood he had to try.

Guilt was the key to his addiction, he figured. It was the first thing he had to find a way to let go of. And, of course, the most difficult. He had to believe it when people told him he wasn't to blame for his family's tragedy, even though he couldn't truly believe it. He had to do it, because it was Red John's rule that he felt guilty. If he didn't, he would have the upper hand.

Maybe, if he found something else to hold on to, he could think before he acted and he could play the game better, and maybe even win.

But what would he hold on to? Well, he could only think about Lisbon and the team. For the past years, they had been the people in his life, the ones he would spend the day with, have meals with, have conversations with, have laughs with. Lisbon was right, they were his family now. And Lisbon, well, it was difficult for him to even think about these feelings, but he knew he was in love with her. Throughout the years, he had considered sleeping with other women, but with Lisbon it was different; in an ideal reality, she would be the person to start a new life with.

But he was afraid to think in terms of a new beginning for himself. Maybe, if he managed to have his revenge – in one way or another – that could be his plan for after it. He tried to actually picture it: he and Lisbon, together. He had to smile at the thought. They would probably spend hours each day having meaningless fights, because both enjoyed it so much. The rest he still couldn't dare to think about.

If it was difficult for him to even imagine a new life for him, was he capable of actually thinking about living it? Actually considering it as a possibility? Could he ever _have_ a new beginning?

At this point, there were too many unanswered questions for his liking, so he decided to call it a night and go to sleep. He felt actually exhausted from thinking so much, so he managed to fall asleep very quickly for his usual standards.

The next morning, Jane woke up, took a shower and then checked his cell phone for any missed calls or voicemail messages. There was nothing. He then decided to go out for some breakfast. As soon as he stepped out of the house, he felt better, almost in a good mood. As he ate, he thought that selling the house would be an important step in fighting his guilt, with the objective of having the advantage in Red John's game. Better than that, it would probably make his opponent puzzled if he heard that the house was for sale. He would probably have to come forward somehow, maybe risking exposure. He smiled widely at his wit.

As soon as he finished eating, he made a few phone calls and, in the next hour, there were people in the house painting the walls and then cleaning it up. He decided not to watch it as they painted the bedroom, on top of the face. He didn't go into the room anymore, either, and forced himself not to think about it. Next, he contacted a real estate agency; he wanted the house for sale that same day. He packed everything he still had in there – a few boxes of clothes and objects – and loaded them up in his car. He decided to hit the road: he was going to Sacramento.

When he arrived there, night had already fallen and he checked into a motel where he could leave his boxes. He decided he was going to rent an apartment in the next few days. That would surprise Red John; his crime-scene house for sale and him living in a rented apartment? Like he was going on with his life? That would keep him guessing. He checked his cell phone; no missed calls, no messages. He wanted an excuse to call Lisbon and tell her about his incredible plan.

What was weirdest was that, even though he was only pretending to move on, putting a show for Red John, he couldn't help but feeling like he had made some personal, psychological progress. And that felt bad, because his guilt was still there, telling him he shouldn't feel like that. That he should never allow himself to actually seek closure.

Jane ordered some dinner and ate while trying to watch some television, but that war between opposites was still strong in his mind, compromising all his neurons. He thought it was really pathetic for a person to feel so bad about feeling better, but there was no better way to describe what was going on inside his head. He soon gave up everything and went to bed; he needed to sleep. He needed to try to silence the voices in his mind.

* * *

The truth was that, now that Lisbon was back, there was little left to investigate. Nothing useful had been found in the house where she had been kept, and they had nothing else to go on. Steve Carter had been added to the list of "wanted by the FBI", but there was little chance that he would be found, given Red John's habit of getting his accomplices killed as soon as they became known by law enforcement.

It was Lisbon's decision, therefore, to return to Sacramento as soon as they had finished everything, including paperwork. She thanked profusely the local PD staff before leaving with the team, and apologized for any inconvenience they might have caused. Their equipment and material had already been loaded up into the cars and they were ready to go. She noticed that the team wanted to ask her something before they hit the road, though. She had quite an idea of what. Rigsby was the brave one.

He cleared his throat. "Hm, boss," he called as she passed him, and started walking fast to catch up with her. "What about Jane?"

Lisbon shrugged. "He's got his own car, his own money, he'll get by. Besides, for all we know, he could be long gone by now." And she sat on the passenger seat of the SUV, pretending she didn't care where the possibly former consultant was. She hadn't seen him or heard from him in two days.

She thought about him during the mostly silent drive with Rigsby; Cho and Van Pelt had taken the sedan. She thought that she missed the son of a bitch. She didn't know why, but she did. She remembered him in jail, promising he would never lie to her again, saying she needed to know how sorry he was. She knew she shouldn't, but she was inclined towards believing him.

In fact, she knew she cared about Jane more than she would let herself recognize. She didn't just care whether he was alive or dead, she cared far more than that, and that was why she had been so hurt by what he had done. She tried to answer to herself just how much she cared, and she was afraid of the answer. She was actually afraid of the feeling, and afraid of how even more hurt she could get once she admitted it to herself. The truth was she suspected she loved him.

And she couldn't fall in love. Not with him, not with anybody. Romantically, her experiences, the ones which she had really put herself into, invested hopes and dreams on, had all been bad, no exception, and that's why now she preferred to be by herself, having only the occasional one night stand to supply any needs but keeping at a safe distance from caring any more than she planned to.

Also, she knew she was a complicated person, who had issues demonstrating her feelings and who was hard to get close to. Because of that, she thought it was for the best to be on her own, to keep her personal and psychological space intact, all to herself, since she found it so difficult to share it with anyone. Besides, there was nothing wrong with her life right now. She was perfectly satisfied with it.

Sometimes, of course, she would look at a happy couple and feel sad, wondering why that seemed so simple for most people, while for her it was so difficult. But she would soon convince herself again that she was perfectly fine alone. She was used to being alone; she had always had to be the strong one, she had always had to go through horrible things without having someone to talk to about them. Thus, to avoid all the trouble and heartache that love brought, she had decided to stay the hell away from it.

However, if she had to fall in love with someone, she couldn't even begin to think about the reasons why this person should not be Jane. For one thing, he wasn't even the kind of guy she would normally be interested in. He was arrogant, selfish, ego-centered and probably even more difficult to get close to than she was. Besides, he had the terrible habit of lying to her and misleading her, something bad for a professional relationship, but unacceptable for a romantic relationship.

Romantic relationship? How the hell could her thoughts have started from Jane and ended up here? She felt ashamed of herself when she realized how far her mind had strayed from where it should have been centered. If she had to think about Jane, then she should be thinking about what she was going to do concerning his position in the CBI. Should she fire him? Well, after what he had done, she certainly had reasonable cause to; someone who might risk everyone's lives for the sake of his personal interests was a liability and had to be let go. On the other hand, he had promised he would never do anything like that again. Now, should she believe that? She had no idea.

She was interrupted as they reached Sacramento. Rigsby made some comment about it being too hot in the city, to which she distractedly agreed, and soon after that they were entering the CBI headquarters. There, they had a briefing with Hightower about the case and everything that had happened. Lisbon was surprised that the boss said she would support the decision she made, whichever it was. She had expected to hear a whole speech about how Jane was an indispensable asset and about how any misconduct performed by him was her fault as his superior, but Hightower said she was actually disappointed in Jane for risking her life, and that she was glad she was all right.

Without any pressure from Hightower, now Jane's fate was entirely in her hands. She didn't know whether she was really satisfied about that. She walked through the bullpen, gazing quickly at the empty couch, and she wanted to ask Rigsby, Van Pelt and Cho's opinion. But she couldn't. She was the boss, it had to be her decision. She could still see the damn couch through the glass, so she shut the blinds until it was gone.

* * *

Jane had looked at apartments during the whole morning and afternoon. He had chosen one and applied to rent it, but he still had to wait for the answer. Not knowing what else to do, he went to his motel room and sat there. He imagined what he would do if Lisbon fired him. What was he going to do? He felt bored as hell after only three days of suspension. He realized it was night already and he hadn't had anything to eat. He would have to go out or order some dinner in.

At that moment, though, his phone rang, making him jump, wondering if it was Lisbon with an answer, even though he thought it should be about the apartment. He was surprised to see the number was unknown. He answered.

"Mr. Jane?" said a male voice which he didn't recognize.

"This is he, who's that?" he said, a bit apprehensive.

"This is Joseph Morgan. I need to talk to you."

Jane found that very weird. "Has anything happened?"

"Yes. I've found a diary hidden in Jenna's stuff."

"A diary?"

"Yes, a diary. I didn't even know she kept one, but I think it has some information about that religious cult she followed."

Jane stood up, as though automatically. "All right, Joseph. I'll contact the team and we'll be meeting you soon, probably tomorrow, okay?"

"I'll wait for you. Bye"

Jane's hands were shaking. He quickly dialed Lisbon's number, but it went straight to voicemail, so he dialed the Unit's number. After a few rings, Jane heard a familiar voice.

"Agent Grace Van Pelt."

"Hi, Van Pelt, this is Jane," he said, anxious.

"Jane," she was almost whispering. "I don't think you should call! Let Lisbon take her time!"

"That's not why I'm calling. Joseph Morgan has just contacted me."

* * *

Lisbon could not believe it when Van Pelt entered her office and told her Jane was on the phone saying he had something on Red John. It sounded much like a prank, but she couldn't take the risk. She had no other choice but to tell Van Pelt to have him come to the headquarters and explain everything. If he was trying to trick his way back in, though, he was going to regret it.

She found herself nervous as she waited for him to arrive, because she hadn't decided yet where she stood around him, if she still hated him or not, if she could believe him or not, if she could forgive him or not. She could picture him coming out of the elevator, smirking like he had known all along he would be back, because the team would be lost without him. She knew exactly the way he would look at her, like he didn't even remember what he was supposed to be sorry for. She was so angry that she thought she was capable of arresting him again for being an ass.

As Jane drove to the CBI headquarters, he felt nervous for many reasons. For one thing, this was a new lead on Red John. Also, he wasn't sure about how to act around the team, especially Lisbon, given that he was currently suspended for having, albeit unintentionally, betrayed them. When he came out of the elevator, he felt awkward, like everyone was looking at him and judging him by what he had done. He saw through the glass that the team was gathered around the table in the bullpen, waiting for him.

"Hello," he said, almost timidly, standing at the door.

Lisbon was surprised to see that he actually seemed to be acting completely contrary to what she had imagined. So much that she stuttered when she spoke. "H-hi, come in, have a seat," she avoided looking at him. It might still be an act, he probably knew better than to act cocky around her when she had the power to get him off the Red John case. She had to contain her discomfort with his presence, not because she was still mad at him, but because she was actually glad to see him again. She saw it as the other three quietly greeted him.

Jane noticed how he missed being a part of the team. He knew he had only been gone for three days, but it seemed like a week. He looked at Lisbon. She still had a bandage on her forehead, but a much smaller one. Actually, looking hard, it seemed like she had already had the stitches removed. Her chin also looked all right. She looked gorgeous.

"So…" she started, impatiently, "tell us what happened."

He cleared his throat, a little embarrassed. "Well, a little earlier I received a call on my cell phone. I didn't recognize the number or the voice, so I asked who it was and he said he was Joseph Morgan."

Cho was writing down on his notepad as usual. Lisbon held a pen, but took notes in her mind, only. "And what did he want?" she asked.

"He told me he had found a diary among Jenna's stuff."

"A diary?" Rigsby said. "When we asked him if she had anything written down, he said she didn't have anything, of any kind."

"He claims he didn't know she even kept a diary, that he's only found it now."

"And why has he contacted you and not us?" Van Pelt asked.

Jane shrugged. "No idea."

He watched Lisbon's mind at work as she looked away. "Sounds really weird, but let's check it anyway," she said at last, standing up. "We'll travel first thing in the morning."

The other three stood up and picked their things, leaving to go prepare for the trip. Jane just sat there, waiting for Lisbon's instructions. She was standing, not looking at him, putting everything back in her folder. He waited.

When she was done, she looked at him and said, "you're coming, but only because he contacted you. Don't think I'm allowing you back in the team, 'cause I still haven't made my decision." She made a pause. He responded with a nod, standing up. She approached him. "You're coming with us in the van; I don't want you to have free access to a car which you can use to sneak out when it pleases you. And also, I want to check your bag; if that gun is in there, I'm going to apprehend it."

He couldn't help but feel sad that she didn't trust him, but he knew he couldn't blame her. "Sounds fair," he said. "And I'm happy to let you check my bag anyway, but I actually brought this to give to you, I want you to know that I don't intend to use it anymore."

Lisbon's jaw fell open as he took the gun from a pocket inside his suit jacket and offered it to her. She took it, still stunned, and watched as he turned his back and walked away.


	10. The Letter

10. THE LETTER

Jane thought, later on, that it had been quite impulsive to take his gun to Lisbon and tell her he no longer intended to use it, but the truth was that he hoped that, in his mind, the will to keep the promise he had made to her would help him focus on his new plan. He knew he had to fight his urges; it was better if she had the gun. It was better if he sold the house. It was better if he pretended to move on, or even truly moved on, even though his guilt would always try to hold him back. If, for winning over Red John, he had to control his guilt, that was what he would do.

He arrived early and the bullpen was still empty, except for Lisbon, who was in her office. He wanted to go talk to her, but he didn't. He wanted to sit on his couch, but he wouldn't want Lisbon to think he was acting like he had been accepted back, so he sat on Van Pelt's chair and noticed a post-it note on her computer screen, saying "Mayflower, 11-18 7."

"I'm sorry, that seat is taken," he heard Van Pelt's voice behind him. As he turned around, he saw her standing, holding a mug. She must have been in the kitchen when he arrived.

"Good morning," he said, standing up. "I was reading that post-it."

She put the mug on her desk and sat down. "I still think that means something. I can feel it."

Jane took another good look at the note. "Maybe seven isn't a year at all," he said. "Maybe it's something else. Could be the time."

She leaned forward to read it again. "Mayflower, November eighteenth, seven o'clock." She looked at him. "Could be."

Jane nodded. Van Pelt smiled, but soon changed the subject. "What did you say to Lisbon last night? She seems troubled."

He shrugged. Grace, always curious. "Nothing much. I only agreed to her conditions for letting me join you in _this_ interrogation."

She smiled. At that moment, Rigsby arrived, yawning. "Good morning," he said.

Cho appeared not much later, and Jane would have found it very weird if he had been the last one to arrive, but he had actually been the first; he had been preparing the van for the trip.

When Lisbon finally came out of her office, it was to say they were ready to go. When she looked at Jane, he threw her such a smile that it was almost impossible not to smile back. She hated it when he did that. He was also wearing the suit she thought he looked best in, and she didn't even know why she was having that kind of thought, so she just turned around to leave and expected the team to follow her. A second later, he was walking next to her.

"Hey, Lisbon," he said. "How are you doing?"

He had a different air about him; she couldn't put her finger on it. "I'm good," she answered dryly, avoiding his eyes.

"I've decided to sell my house."

Lisbon stopped walking. "Sell what?"

"My house, in Malibu." He was amused at her reaction.

"When?" she started walking again, trying to contain the shock. "When did you decide that?"

"Two days ago," he said, somewhat proud of his trivial tone.

They got into the elevator, along with the rest of the team. "Did you hear that, guys?" Jane said. "My house is for sale. If any of you have any interest…"

Lisbon was frowning. She thought that could be the symptom of a psychotic break. The other three didn't say anything; they were probably afraid of the same thing. As they came out of the elevator, Jane walked beside Lisbon again.

"The thing is I've decided to move on in general."

Lisbon stopped walking again and looked at him, really worried now. She put a hand on his forehead. "Do you have a fever?"

"No, Lisbon, I'm serious," he said, an indeed very serious expression on his face.

"So am I," she replied, still frowning.

"It's actually a part of a plan," he whispered. "I'll tell you all about it in the car. I'll sit in the back, sit with me." He gave her a tempting smile, and she told herself that she only accepted the invitation because she was really curious about said plan.

As he explained it to her, she was surprised to find that it actually made sense.

"None of this is easy for me," he confessed, with a haunted expression. "I actually feel better doing this, but in my mind there's a voice saying I shouldn't, and it makes me feel all that much worse."

Lisbon couldn't contain an involuntary impulse to put a hand on his shoulder as she spoke. "You know, these _are_ the things you should have done a long time ago. And you _should_ feel better. And I will be here to remind you of that."

He smiled on top of an expression like that of a homeless dog begging to be taken care of. "You will?" he asked.

She withdrew her hand from his shoulder. "But if I find out that there is a tiny little lie in the middle of all this or anything like it, I swear to God, Jane, I will kill you."

He smiled. "Thank God I can consider myself off the hook on _that_ death threat."

"Let's hope so," she answered, crossing her arms and looking ahead.

Jane just looked at her, smiling, for a long time.

* * *

The repair shop was open when they arrived. Cho parked the van and they all got off. Joseph Morgan came out and greeted them quietly.

"Hello, Mr. Morgan," Jane said, taking the lead. "So, about that diary?"

Morgan took a small, worn-out-looking book with a black leather cover from his pocket. "There you go."

Jane was going to take it in his hands, but Lisbon didn't let him. "Gloves," she said, rather harshly, showing her hands and taking it. As she started to turn the pages, the others approached her so they could see it too. It started out as what looked like a normal diary. Until, at a certain point, it changed completely. The writing looked deeper, even though it still looked like it belonged to the same person; the entries were longer; there were things written in capital letters and the whole thing gave an impression of obsessive behavior. Lisbon shut it and put it inside an evidence bag.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Morgan," she said. "We're going to have to take this with us."

"Happy to help," he said, avoiding her eyes.

"There's something else," she said. "We'd like to search your property for any other belongings of Jenna's that might be of interest."

"You got it," he said, and started to move back into the shop.

"Hey, Joseph," Jane called. Morgan turned around. "Is there anything else you'd like to tell us?"

Morgan shook his head, and Jane thought he looked anxious to finish the conversation. "No, sir." He turned around and disappeared behind the motorcycles.

Cho and Rigsby searched the property, but didn't find anything else that might be related to the case. They all went back to Sacramento as soon as that was finished. Jane asked Lisbon's permission to read the diary on the way, and she offered him a pair of latex gloves.

"We'll read together," she said, with a half-smile that pleased him very much.

The first entries described the daily life of an ordinary person. Jenna would sometimes mention her brother, what he was doing or something, but mostly she talked about work – at the time, she was a waitress and seemed fine with it. For the descriptions, she didn't have a boyfriend and lived with her brother. During the day she cleaned the place, went to the grocery store, cooked, washed dishes and clothes. During the night, she worked.

Then, suddenly, the descriptions of days simply disappeared. The new entries were not dated and talked about what really seemed like a god or something religious; she commented about how she had met someone she only referred to as _he_, and how _he_ had changed her life and shown her a whole new perspective. Things like "a higher purpose" and "just a part in something so much bigger" would appear profusely. The entries went on like that until there was something quite different; the last entry, which didn't have a date either, was a text with a particularly interesting title: "Letter to P. J."

Lisbon and Jane exchanged a look, and went back to reading it.

"_LETTER TO P. J._

_You are probably one of the people who know best how fragile life is. __So it is about time you should think about how fragile your life is, too, and that of those you still care about. Maybe the time has finally come to stop playing games._

_Sometimes you must look harder, starting from the beginning, to reach the end. And when should the end be? When there is nothing left to lose. Or, at least, you think there is not. _

_We will__ all be waiting for you, including the one you wish to see the most."_

Lisbon and Jane exchanged a confused look.

"Doesn't seem to make much sense," she commented.

"It could be an enigma. It must be an enigma," he said, intent on the book. _Maybe the time had finally come to stop playing games._ What could that mean? Did that mean that Red John no longer wanted to play games with him? And what was that doing in Jenna's diary?

"We'll analyze it later," Lisbon said, because they were entering the CBI parking lot. She took the diary and put it back in its evidence bag. "Let's just let forensics work on it first."

Jane wasn't sure whether to stay in the bullpen or not, since Lisbon hadn't said anything since they had arrived about him being on or off the team. He went to the kitchen and prepared a cup of tea for himself, just so he'd have something to do. The words in the letter made a mess amongst his thoughts. The first part sounded like a death threat, meant for him and _those he still cared about. _As for the second part and the last sentence, he couldn't make sense of them yet. If that was encoded, he had to crack it. He had to know what the message was.

Lisbon was locked in her office, conscious that she had to decide about Jane right now. On the one hand, it was not only unfair, but even stupid, to keep him off Red John, because he was so much a part of it that he couldn't be entirely separated from it. Now they had a letter, directed to him. They needed his insights while interpreting it. On the other hand, she still didn't know whether she could trust him. She wanted to, and his behavior was suggesting that she could, but she was scared that he might be pretending. She was scared that his addiction to revenge could be so severe as to make him put a show like that just to make her trust him again. She could never be sure what his real motivations were.

Van Pelt came into her office at that moment, looking annoyed. "Jane is walking around with a cup of tea. He won't sit and won't let anybody work. I think he's waiting for an answer."

Lisbon sighed, irritated. "What if I tell you that I'm waiting for an answer, too? I still don't know what to do."

Van Pelt seemed to think for a while, and then she spoke. "Well, if he's here we can watch what he's doing."

Lisbon rolled her eyes. "I don't know which is worse; having him here knowing everything about the case our out there doing lord knows what."

"I think out there doing lord knows what sounds way worse," Van Pelt said, as if automatically.

Lisbon grinned, with sad sarcasm. "He told me he would never hide anything from me again. But of course I shouldn't believe that, right?" She detected a hint of true doubt in her own tone. She really wanted Van Pelt to convince her otherwise.

"Boss," Van Pelt started. "Believe me. When you were gone, I was furious at him. I hated him for what he had done. But he was so genuinely worried, actually, desperate, that I can't help believing him now. I think he's really learned his lesson."

They stared at each other for a moment, as Lisbon tried to believe Van Pelt. Then Lisbon spoke. "Tell him to come here."

Jane was startled when Van Pelt told him Lisbon wanted to see him in her office. She was going to tell him what her decision was. He felt sweat sprouting from his forehead as he walked. He opened the door quietly, and found her sitting behind her desk. She looked up at him. "Come in."

He obeyed, and closed the door behind him. Lisbon stood up, and leaned forward, both hands outstretched on the desk.

"You can stay," she said, simply, and then added, after a pause, "for now. But I'm watching you. Anything wrong happens, you're out, no warning. Is that clear?"

Jane didn't like the impersonal tone, different from earlier, when she promised to help him fight his guilt; she was back to offended boss mode. But at least she was allowing him back in the team, so he smiled. "Very clear."

Lisbon nodded, looking away. Then, she looked at him again. "I want to know your every thought."

He smiled crookedly. "Every one?"

She rolled her eyes impatiently. "And I don't want you going anywhere alone without my knowledge _and_ approval."

"Understood," he nodded.

"That'll be all." She sat down again, not looking at him anymore. As he didn't start moving, she looked up. "Go, we've all got work to do."

He wanted to thank her, but he took the hint and left. As he arrived in the bullpen, his colleagues smiled as though quietly welcoming him back.

* * *

The only prints found on the diary belonged to either Jenna or Joseph Morgan. Forensics had also compared the writing on the entries to Jenna's signature on her driver's license to determine if she had written them. There was an eighty-percent chance that Jenna had written the entries, except for the letter, which had similarities but also differences to the rest of the writing, making a sixty-percent chance of having been written by somebody else. That was what the preliminary report said; Van Pelt was telling her colleagues about it.

"They're still going to analyze it further," she said, "but we already have the pages scanned into digital files, so we can try to figure out the entries, especially the letter."

They all exchanged looks. The phone rang, and Rigsby picked it up.

"Well, let's do it, then," Lisbon said, "but maybe we could talk to Morgan again, see if he could tell us about anyone else who could have written on that diary. Then, maybe this other person can tell us a little about what the hell that damn letter means."

"Maybe some other time," Rigsby said, hanging up. "I've just got a call from the Riverside county sheriff, they have Steve Carter in custody."

Lisbon stood up, and her whole body started trembling. She remembered the scumbag filming it as he tortured her. She looked at Jane. He looked back at her, his hands turned into fists.

"Van Pelt, get us some plane tickets," she ordered. "I won't wait any longer than I have to before I can have a chat with that son of a bitch."

During the flight, Jane worked on the letter. He knew he had to avoid being obsessed with it, as a part of his bigger plan of controlling his guilt; obsession and guilt would have him off his game, and he couldn't afford that. Still, he knew that figuring out the letter was useful, so he cautiously decided to give it a try. After an hour working on ideas, he decided to share them with Lisbon. She wanted his every thought, didn't she? He asked Cho, who was sitting next to her, to switch seats with him.

"What is it, Jane?" she asked, impatient that he was bringing her back to reality when she had been concentrating on how to act around Steve Carter and what to ask him.

"I've been working on the letter," he said, showing her a copy of it. "I've got some ideas. You said you wanted me to tell you what's on my mind, always."

"Oh," she said, lacking a better answer. "Let's hear it."

"Well, the first paragraph is clearly a threat, to me and the people I still care about." He waved his finger in her direction. "Meaning you and the team."

"Hm," was Lisbon's answer, as she was a little surprised at that confession of sorts.

"The last sentence in the first paragraph says that maybe the time has finally come to stop playing games. I think this means Red John no longer wants to play this game with me."

Lisbon pondered for a while. Jane continued. "My doubt is if this was written before or after you were taken. We already know almost for sure that Jenna didn't write this, so it could have been written by Red John after Jenna was killed. Maybe she had the diary with her when he abducted her."

_When Steve Carter abducted her_, Lisbon corrected in her mind, feeling a chill go through her spine as she remembered her own abduction. But then, something didn't add up about Jane's theory.

"But how did it get to Joseph Morgan?" she asked.

"Well, Red John probably planted it there," Jane said, with some kind of excitement about him. "Didn't Joseph say he had never noticed the diary? That he had found it all of a sudden? Maybe it was a response to the fact that the house is for sale."

Lisbon thought for a while. It did make sense. "What about the rest of the letter?"

"I don't know," he said, a bit disappointed. "Something encoded. But I think it has to do with where and when, because, at the end, it says they will all be waiting for me, including the one I wish to see the most. Red John, I presume. So the second paragraph would be where and when."

He looked down at the letter again, and then back at her; she was looking away, seemed to be distracted. "You're anxious, aren't you?"

She looked at him. "Yes," was all she said. Then she looked at the copy of the letter in his hands, and then at him again. "How are _you_ doing?"

Only by the look in his eyes, Lisbon noticed that the letter was all he could think about, and that he knew it didn't look good. So she simply took the copy from his hands and kept it. He gave her a half smile and went back to his original seat.

* * *

The sheriff told the team that one of the officers had noticed a blue sedan driving too fast and started following it. Not only the car didn't seem like it was going to stop but the officer could also see that the man inside it had a gun and was preparing to use it. The officer then had called for backup and shot the tires in the sedan, which caused the man to shoot back but also to eventually stop the car. When backup arrived, after the officer and the man had spent about ten minutes shooting at each other, they were able to arrest him. They figured he must have been on the run, probably on his way to Mexico, and later on recognized him by the mugshot released by the CBI.

After all that talk, Lisbon told the team she was going to interrogate him first, alone; they could watch from the gallery. At that moment, she thought she felt a little like Jane would probably feel when he would say things like "Red John is mine," because it felt like Steve Carter was hers. She tried to control the shaking of her hand as she put it on the handle. When she thought it was satisfactorily under control, she went in.

He was sitting behind a table, and looked up at her. She looked back, feeling her teeth clench involuntarily.

"We meet again, at last," she said, with a smile.

Carter just nodded. "We didn't quite finish last time, though. I was mad that you ran. We still had so much to do, so much fun to have."

Jane clenched his teeth on the other side of the glass, too.

"Shut up!" Lisbon said, a little louder than she had planned to. She took a deep breath and tried to control her voice. "You're in a real bad situation here, you know that? You've kidnapped and assaulted a state officer. That'll guarantee you many, many years behind bars."

She sat down, putting her folder on the table, facing him. He looked at her like he had done nothing wrong. "But we can tie you to the disappearance of at least one of Red John's victims, so we could charge you with accessory to murder, too. So why don't you start telling us everything you know about Red John?"

Carter smiled. "All I know is that he is a good man."

"Oh, is he?"

"Yes, he is. Certainly a better man than that one you work with. He can't even tell you the truth, can he?"

Jane felt that one like a sharp knife through his chest.

"What about his victims?" Lisbon asked, anger making her voice tremble. "Maybe you can tell me how a good man like Red John was capable of brutally killing a dozen of innocent women."

Both Lisbon and Jane added "and a child" in a mental note.

"He saved them."

Lisbon had to contain an angrier reaction; instead, she just took the picture of Jenna Morgan's body from her folder and put it on the table, in front of him. "He saved _her_? Please explain to me how and from what."

Carter sighed, like that picture didn't bother him at all. "She lived a miserable life. She had no purpose. Red John gave her a purpose."

"And then he killed her?"

"She begged for it," he whispered, with a twisted smile.

Lisbon slammed her hand on the table and stood up. "I don't believe you."

He didn't even blink. She took another deep breath, taking a series of pictures from her folder and displaying them on the table for him.

"Do you recognize these?"

He looked at the pictures, which showed several fragments of Jenna's diary's entries, and shook his head. "I've never seen this, no."

Lisbon stood there for a while, unsure of what to say. It didn't seem like he was going to say anything useful, and she was close to losing her temper, so she just gathered the pictures, put them back into the folder and left.

"I'll see you later," he said behind her, grinning.

After leaving the interrogation room, Lisbon didn't feel like seeing or talking to anybody. Her eyes were teary, her whole body felt weak and she felt the urgent need to get out of there as fast as she could.


	11. Nowhere Far

_**Happy New Year! That was quick because I've actually been traveling and came back with two chapters ready – this story just seems to **__**need**__** to get out. Thank you to the readers who always review, I really need to read some feedback to make sure I'm on the right direction with my story. We're heading towards the end now, I'm not sure how many chapters but not too many more. Hope you enjoy this one and **__**please**__** review!**_

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11. NOWHERE FAR

Jane looked for Lisbon after the interrogation, worried about her. She had to be disturbed after seeing her kidnapper, so he wanted to comfort her, remind her everything was fine now, help her like she was helping him. But he didn't find her. He tried her cell phone, but it went to voicemail. He then thought about calling the hotel where Van Pelt had booked rooms for them, and found out she was there. He figured she might need some time alone, so he controlled his impulse of going after her right away.

He wanted to talk to Carter, see how the man would react to him, but he wasn't going to ask the team to allow him. If it were their idea, he would go; if not, he wouldn't. He was trying to control his addiction: if it was telling him to face Carter without a plan, that was something he wasn't going to do.

It was night already and Cho decided to call it a day. He told the sheriff that they would transfer Carter to Sacramento the next morning, and that he wasn't supposed to talk to anybody about anything until then. They all left and decided to go have dinner, and Jane joined them just kill some time; after eating, he guessed he had already given Lisbon plenty of time alone, so he left his colleagues and took a cab to the hotel. When he got there, he went straight to her room, feeling an urgent need to see her. Besides the fact that he wanted to see how she was doing after interrogating Carter, he remembered that he still hadn't thanked her properly for allowing him back in the team and offering her support with his plan. He knocked on the door.

Lisbon was lying down, watching TV. Not that she was listening to any of it; her mind was traveling miles away, back and forth, as she kept remembering details about her kidnapping and then tried to forget, in a twisted cycle. In moments like these, she wished she had someone she could talk to, but she wouldn't even know _how_ to talk about this. She was so used to just thinking about things, alone, like she was now. That was the way she coped with things; alone.

And just as she was thinking about this, she heard somebody knocking, and it brought her crashing back to reality. Who the hell could it be at that time? She didn't want to see anybody. She wanted to be left alone, for God's sake! Was that too much to ask? She decided not to answer; if it was room service or housekeeping, they would just go away. But then, after a moment, whoever it was, they knocked again. Lisbon stood up, furious, cursing the fact that she probably looked like she had been crying, which she had, the fact that she was wearing her pajamas, and the fact that even though horrible things kept happening to her, the rest of the world couldn't even leave her alone to deal with them. So, without even looking through the peephole to see who it was, she just violently opened the door with an annoyed and impatient "What?"

She couldn't believe it. Jane stood there, holding his suit jacket in his arms, his shirtsleeves rolled up, looking at her like he was a little shocked at her manners. What did he want? Why couldn't he just leave her alone? He had some kind of radar or something that always told him to go bother her when she needed most to be alone. Maybe it was his psychic powers. "What are you doing here?"

After recovering from the slight fright she had caused with her way of answering the door, Jane smiled at the sight of her, wearing a long football t-shirt, which covered her up a little above her knees, and nothing else. "I wanted to see you," was his honest answer.

"You couldn't have waited until the morning?" She remembered that he might be there for the help she had promised him, and almost felt guilty for being so harsh. But then again, he had that cocky smile on his face, which told her he wasn't feeling that terrible anyway. Which, by the way, she did, so she forgot about feeling guilty. He was annoying her, probably for no reason.

Her whole annoyed demeanor only amused Jane even more. "Actually, no."

She sighed loudly and stared at him, unsure of what to do. He had a big smile on his face, and it was kind of contagious, but she wasn't going to smile back. No way.

"Can I come in?" he asked, like a naughty boy faking his best behavior.

Lisbon's answer was to let the door swing until it was completely open. Jane squeezed his way in. "Thank you," he said, politely.

Lisbon closed the door behind her. "So what do you want?" she asked, anxious to get that over with.

He rested his suit jacket on a chair, thinking about her question and not getting an immediate answer to it from his brain. Then he looked up at her again, with a serious expression, as he remembered one of his reasons. "I never had the chance to thank you for saying you'd be there to help me. And for letting me go back to working with you and the team."

She squinted, trying to read any other motives behind his thankfulness. Or was he just trying to be nice for no other reason? "I might still change my mind," she threatened, with a half-smile, which told Jane she was only half-annoyed now.

He decided to ask her something he had been dying to know. "Can I interpret, from you helping me and allowing me back, that you don't hate me so much for what I did anymore?"

Lisbon sighed, in defeat. She didn't know what to answer at first, but, thinking about it, she realized what the answer was, and gave it to him. "I tried to hate you, and you did give me a lot to go on, but I just can't."

Jane's smile disappeared; he was surprised by her answer. He felt something good inside his chest.

"Thank you," he said after a while, with a small smile.

"Oh, don't thank me," Lisbon answered, sort of amused at his reaction. "If I could choose, I _would_ hate you."

Jane smiled, and then let his smile fade again.

"Well, I still do. I still hate myself for what I caused you."

Lisbon bit her lip, shaking her head. "That's not good," she said. "Not good at all. You've hated yourself all of these years for what happened to your family like it was your fault, and where has it gotten you? Nowhere far, has it?"

A small, sad smile appeared on Jane's face. "Nowhere far."

Lisbon felt her heart start aching at the sight of his sadness. "Well, but now you have that plan, right? That will help you move on. Start over."

He suddenly remembered about when he had imagined a new beginning for him, with her by his side. And how scared he was of even thinking about it.

"I'm not so sure it will," he answered truthfully, recalling the endless battles inside his mind.

She took a step forward, feeling it as her eyes quietly started to water. "You're going to make it. I'm here to help, you know that."

He smiled through the sadness. "Thank you." He contained an impulse of taking her hand. Suddenly, he remembered another reason why he was there.

"You disappeared after the interrogation. How are you?"

She sighed, looking away, suddenly remembering how terrible she was feeling before he showed up and made her feel bad about him. "It was difficult," she started. "I couldn't keep my head while I was in there, with him. Then when I left, I just needed to be alone." She was going to add that she still needed to be alone, but, for some reason, she didn't.

"And how do you feel now?" he asked, approaching her and finally taking her hand in his like he had been wanting to.

She looked at how his hand was bigger than hers and covered it completely; its warmth felt so good against the coldness of hers. She looked into his eyes and detected real concern. She suddenly knew his presence was making her feel better. Those details about her kidnapping were far away from her mind now. "I'm fine," she answered, sincerely.

Jane nodded, and she nodded, too. There they were, sharing feelings with each other as if they were used to doing so. As if they were the only ones who they could share them with. Jane let go of her hand and smiled widely as he took a thorough look at her football t-shirt serving as a nightdress. "I love your pajamas," he said.

Lisbon had to smile, even though she did tug it down to cover more of her bare legs. Then she looked back at him and noticed his expression was a different one; one she wasn't so accustomed to seeing him wearing. An expression of sincerity mixed with uncertainty, with a hint of sadness, as he said, "I also love your green eyes."

She didn't know how to respond. He tried to keep his mind quiet, because it was shouting for him to stop. But he went on. "I love your curls," he made a pause, and then he looked away as he said, "even though I also love it when you straighten them."

He realized he was able to shut his brain down and continue speaking. His expression became more serious, and he looked deep into her eyes. "I love your courage. I love your boring rules and morals. I love your voice. I love the way you say my name when you're mad at me," he chuckled, "I love your annoyed face and your furious face, and that's why I enjoy irritating you so much."

There was a moment of silence. Lisbon was so shocked that she didn't react. She didn't even know what to think. Jane's face became very serious again, and that uncertainty and that insecurity also seemed to intensify in his expression. He wasn't used to acting on impulse, but, for some reason, he was really enjoying the feeling of simply saying what he wanted to say to her.

"I love you," he said, simply. Lisbon felt the air escape her lungs involuntarily, causing her to breathe in hurriedly. "I tried not to," he stated, "but you left me no other choice."

Lisbon didn't know what to do. Her lips moved, but found no words to utter, while Jane was clearly waiting for some kind of response. She swallowed, trying to decode the meaning of those three words. She looked into his eyes, which were pleading for her to say something.

"Jane," she whispered, and left her mouth open, in search of the rest of the sentence.

He looked down, with a smile, waving a hand in front of him, not knowing what to do, something that usually didn't happen to him. He felt he had gone too far, had said too much. "I understand," he said, "I should go –"

"No," Lisbon said, in a hurry, because the idea of him leaving now just felt unbearable for some reason. She didn't want him to go and she didn't want him to misinterpret her reaction. He could always read her so well; why couldn't he read her now? Maybe, she thought, because she was finding it almost impossible to read herself as well. "Don't go," she managed to whisper after a while. Hesitantly, she touched his face; he put his hand on top of hers, never breaking eye contact.

And then, without thinking much about what she was doing, she approached his face and kissed his lips. It was slow at first; he seemed surprised, but responded instantly. It had been so long since he had kissed someone, and at the gentle and inquisitive touch of her lips, he realized how much he had wanted to kiss her. He ran one of his hands through her hair, and the other one seized the small of her back, pulling her closer. Their kiss became more demanding, on his side, at first, but then she responded with equal force.

It didn't make sense to Lisbon's rational side that she was kissing Patrick Jane, with a hand getting lost among his curls and the other one pulling him closer by his collar, but she didn't try much harder to understand what was happening. All she knew was that she needed to find a way to pull him closer. He seemed to have the same objective, as his hand pressed her back so hard that it ached where she had been hurt by Steve Carter. But not even that memory could bother her right now.

Jane broke the kiss and proceeded to kissing the tender skin of her throat, with the occasional bite, making her moan lightly against his ear. It had been so long since he had last done this. It felt so good. He kissed her again, hungrily, thrusting his tongue inside her sweet mouth, as his hands found their way under her t-shirt and up the bare, soft skin of her back. In return, she moved her hands to his chest and started unbuttoning his vest and then his shirt, and, through the opening, she was able to move a hand along his stomach, going up, massaging his chest, grazing his nipple and scratching his shoulder as her other hand rested on his back, pulling him to her.

His body jerked in response to her initiatives, and he groaned against her mouth as they kissed in an excruciatingly slow and sensual rhythm, even though both suffered with the urgency they felt. Lisbon broke the kiss this time, moving her mouth to affectionately kiss his cheek, his forehead and his eyelid, then switching to open-mouthed kisses down his neck, on her way to his shoulder.

In an incontrollable hurry, Jane grabbed both her thighs and held her up, painfully close to him, and she could feel the physical evidence of his immediacy. He took a few steps and reached his destination, where he forcefully threw her against the mattress and slowly crawled on top of her, between her legs, kissing all the skin he could lay his lips on as he pushed her t-shirt up on his way. She pressed her thighs against him in a desperate attempt to never let him go. He was sucking gently the skin around her bellybutton, making her whimper ever so softly. He then continued up, kissing, licking and rubbing his teeth along her ribs.

Lisbon took a handful of his hair and pushed his head to hers until their lips met as soon as he arrived close enough for her to reach him, his hands still slowly pulling her t-shirt up, making a stop at her breasts, where he allowed them to let go of the cloth and seize the skin, squeeze it, massage it, hearing the sweet sound of her delight in response. She was unsuccessfully struggling with his shirt and vest, attempting to get them out of her way, as he moved his hands to her back and lay his weight on top of her, their chests pressed together, and she responded by throwing her legs around him and pulling him even closer, making him moan loudly between kisses. He moved down, licking her neck, kissing it, sucking and biting her skin along her collarbone, making her say his name once, twice, three times, as though begging him for something.

As he pressed her against him, Jane felt suddenly too close to his new beginning, the one he barely dared to think about, and he knew that, once he gave her and himself what they so desperately longed for at the moment, he would never be able to take it back. What if his urges for revenge had the best of him and made him do something to hurt her again? He wasn't completely sure he could control it. What if his love for her wasn't enough against his addiction and, having to choose between her and Red John, he chose him? He still didn't know that he could contain his addiction like that, even though he knew he wanted to. With her in his arms he knew just how he wanted to.

Lisbon had managed to move her hands down to his hips and had started operating on his belt buckle, her hands too close, and he knew he had to stop it now or he would never be able to, so with one hand he grasped her hands, and with the other he pulled himself up, breaking the contact, while moving his legs out of the embrace of hers. "I can't," he breathed, regretful already. "I can't." And he couldn't look into her eyes, as he lay down beside her, being careful not to touch her.

Silence set in, and the only sound they heard were their heavy breaths, in a struggle to get enough air into their lungs. Lisbon felt it as her reason slowly came back to her and she realized she had been on the verge of having sex with Jane. She didn't know how she felt, or what she should do. She turned her head to look at him, who looked up at some point in the ceiling, his shirt and vest wide open, his body outstretched and immobile. He had his left arm on top of his forehead, and she took a painful look at his wedding ring.

She rolled her t-shirt back down and took his right hand in hers. She didn't know what to say, and he probably didn't, either, so she was quite sure that was communication enough at the moment. His fingers intertwined with hers, in a silent response. He knew that she probably wouldn't understand what was going on inside his head right now, but, at the same time, he thought she was the only one who could.

"That doesn't cancel anything I've said," he murmured, his eyes still intent on the ceiling.

Lisbon stared at him. She knew this was going to be difficult, but right now, she didn't feel like she had a choice between staying with him or not. So she rolled on her side and laid her head on his shoulder, tucking it under his chin, and he immediately slipped his arm around her to keep her close.

"If we did it," he started to explain, "it would consummate something I'm not exactly sure I'm ready for right now. Besides, it might give you the erroneous impression that my interest in you is primarily physical, which–"

"Shhh, shut up," she interrupted. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"Well, this _is_ your room..."

"In that case, I haven't kicked you out, have I?"

"No, you certainly haven't..." he smiled to himself and squeezed her lightly.

Lisbon couldn't say how long they lay there like this. All the while, she thought about how she could no longer deny it to herself; she was in love with him. There were no excuses left. She knew this was going to be complicated and hurtful, but there was nothing else she could do to stop it now. Besides, she had hopes about his attempts to move on. She wanted to believe his plan would work in many good ways.

Jane's mind was serving as a battlefield for one more of those tiring debates between two opposite sides. One was happy that he had finally confessed his feelings to Lisbon and that he had her in his arms, while the other one told him to feel horrible because he was betraying his dead wife and child. To top that up, the rest of his body also wanted a say in this as it could barely resist reacting to Lisbon's body so close to him. He eventually decided to go to his own room.

"I should go," he said, quietly, hoping she wouldn't be disappointed but also hoping she wouldn't be glad.

"Okay," she said, not so okay with it, rolling off of his chest and sitting up.

Jane sat up, too, buttoning his shirt and feeling rather embarrassed now. Lisbon felt suddenly embarrassed, too. She got off the bed and took his suit jacket from the chair he had rested it on. She looked at it, wishing she didn't have to give it back to him now. They met at the door, where she silently returned it to him.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he said, avoiding her eyes.

"See you," she responded, avoiding his glance as well.

When Jane found himself alone in his room, the war only got worse; guilt was screaming inside his head that what he had done was wrong, that he should never consider having a new life with anyone else because, if it wasn't for him, he would still have his old life, with his wife and child. On the extreme opposite side, a tiny voice tried to remind him this was part of his plan; that, in order to be able to move on, he needed Lisbon. She had said he needed to hold on to something good, and she was that something. He needed her to win the game against Red John.

That seemed to calm his guilt down. That was the only argument it would accept, although not for very long. It would be quiet for a while, when it was told it was all just a show for Red John, with the objective of deceiving him. But it would wake up again, with full power, as soon as it detected any hint that he was actually feeling good about the things he was doing. So, when Jane had changed his clothes and was already lying on his bed and his mind slipped quietly into a half hour before, when his lips were all over Lisbon's body, and he felt a sensation that people would ordinarily label "butterflies", his guilt took a swing at him that made him fall so far down that he was quickly in tears, remembering similar moments with his wife; their first kiss, the first time they made love, when they took their baby daughter home.

It was in a desperate attempt to remember once again why it was that he had to fight his guilt that he took his right hand to his left ring finger and, with one pull, took off his wedding band. Before having a chance to look at it, he put it inside the nightstand drawer. In response, his guilt had him cry himself to sleep, all the while thinking about where the ring lay, and fighting the urge to take it back.

The next morning, as soon as Jane opened his eyes and woke up from his dreamless sleep, he felt as horrible as he had felt the moment he had fallen asleep. Usually, it takes a while until a person remembers exactly what happened or how they felt the night before, but as Jane sat up on his bed, his thoughts were on his wedding ring, inside the nightstand drawer, and his guilt kept telling him to open it. Images of the day of his wedding kept coming back to him, being gradually substituted with images of the tragedy that had torn everything apart, of the state in which his wife and daughter had been found, and it suddenly reminded him that, in a week, it would be the anniversary of their murder. Another year had gone by without them. His daughter would be a teenager by now. And the following week, he would relive, as he always did, the day when he had lost them. The day when he had lost everything that he had.

At that thought, his eyes widened and he stood up, his pulse suddenly racing.

* * *

Lisbon woke up really early. She had had trouble falling asleep, because she kept remembering what had happened and what had almost happened between her and Jane, and asking herself what would happen next. While she was, indeed, asleep, bad dreams involving different combinations of her, Jane, members of the team, Steve Carter and Red John kept troubling her, until she decided to get up at once. She took a shower, got dressed and went straight to the sheriff's station. She asked to take a look at Carter, and saw him sleeping inside his cell. She watched closely to make sure he was breathing, which he was, and then she was able to start working. Something told her they needed to question him again before moving him to Sacramento. She feared that Red John could find a way to have something happen during the trip, an accident, an interception, something that kept them from arriving safely with the prisoner.

The words in the letter kept coming back to her, and she couldn't make sense of them. She wanted to have Carter read it, see if it would cause him any reaction or if he would know something about it, but she also feared for the legitimacy of the letter; that it might be fake, or even some form of communication between Red John and Carter. The truth was she found it really odd that, on the same day, they had found the diary and apprehended a suspect, both related to Red John and maybe even crucial to finding him. They were usually never able to find anything, because the killer would always flawlessly get rid of any traces or clues he might have left behind, so she found it very weird that they would get two things on the same day. Maybe one of them or even both were already a response to Jane putting his house for sale.

Van Pelt arrived, looking nervous. "I think we should question him before we move him," were her first words. "Maybe not even move him at all."

Lisbon nodded. "I was thinking the same thing."

The young agent looked deep into her eyes. "There's something I want to ask him about."

When Cho arrived, Lisbon had the officers wake Carter up for interrogation. She told Cho and Van Pelt to go in.

Cho started, asking Carter about his personal life and his past, about which he was cryptic as always. Cho did manage, however, to make him tell him that he was an ordinary guy, who had ordinary jobs, who drove a motorcycle, who was not and had never been married and had no children, and whose both parents had died before he was in his they didn't already know, though.

Rigsby arrived around ten minutes after the interrogation had started, and sat down with Lisbon in the gallery, eating something huge for breakfast. "Forensics' final report on the diary has just got in," he said, handing her a folder. She thanked him and started reading it. The only new information on it was that they had been able to determine that the ink on the letter was much newer than the ink used on all the other entries; actually, the report said it was less than twenty-four hours old at the time of the analysis. So Jane was right; that letter had been written after and was probably a response to his move of putting his house on the market.

Cho spent about a half hour talking to Carter about life, past and present experiences, as though that were not an interrogation. The idea was to make him comfortable, consequently making it more likely for him to talk, but Lisbon saw that Carter still maintained himself at a safe distance, immune to Cho's techniques.

"And how was it that your life changed; going from being ordinary to anything but?" Cho asked.

"I know what you're getting at," Carter replied, with a smile.

"And what is it?"

"Red John."

"So, is him what changed your life?"

Carter shrugged. "You could say that, yeah."

"And how did he do that?"

The bald man shook his head. "I couldn't even begin to explain to you."

Van Pelt took a small evidence bag from her pocket. "Then explain to me what this is," she said, putting it on the table for him to see. "This was found in your truck, and, comparing it to your signature, forensics has determined that this is your handwriting."

For the first time, Carter seemed to have a different reaction, one he wasn't completely in control of. It was just something in his eyes at the sight of the "Mayfield" note. But then he pushed it away.

"I don't know what that is."

"I think you do," she retorted. "You wrote this. What is it? An address?"

"Beats me," Carter said, with a smile, leaning backwards on the chair.

Cho stood up, a signal for Van Pelt to give up for now. "That's all for now, Mr. Carter. We'll talk again later."

"Thanks, Mr. Cho," he answered, as to an old friend.

Reluctantly, Van Pelt followed Cho out of the room. They came into the gallery. "He's really hard to get to," Cho complained. "We need something we can use against him, some kind of leverage."

"That's going to be difficult," Lisbon said. "Apparently, he doesn't care about anything but Red John." She was sick of that, sick of how hard it was to ever figure anything out in this case. "It doesn't seem like he cares if he's alive or dead, in prison or free."

"Do you think that's why he's not dead?" Rigsby asked.

"It's possible," she said.

"Mayflower means something, though," Van Pelt remarked.

"Yeah, we just need to find out what," Lisbon said. "Van Pelt, look for places with that name near the places where this creep's been seen or known to be. Rigsby, help Cho work on finding out any kind of leverage we could use to make Carter talk."

At that exact moment, Jane entered the gallery, looking nervous. He looked directly at Lisbon. "I need to talk to you, right now."

She was startled; she had no idea of what he wanted to talk to her about, and she wasn't sure either of them were ready to talk about the previous night. So she didn't quite know what to say when he said his first sentence.

"Next Thursday is the day that Red John killed my family." He said that with the usual sadness and darkness in his eyes and voice.

"The day I lost everything," he continued, making Lisbon even more confused as to what he expected her to do or say. He was probably going to try and justify again why they could not begin a relationship, and, frankly, she knew what he was going to say, so she'd rather not hear it. "When there was nothing left to lose, or at least I thought there wasn't."

Lisbon was about to ask him to stop when that suddenly sounded familiar. She stopped moving to try and remember where she had heard that before, and Jane smiled as he saw the recognition on her face.

"The letter," he said, taking a copy of it from his pocket. "During the interrogation, I was analyzing it to make sure."

"Make sure…" she murmured, still trying to understand what was happening.

"To make sure I was right. I'm quite sure I've figured out what the letter means."


	12. New Addiction

_**Writing the final chapters of this story has been a very difficult task so far. **__**I know what I want to do, but not exactly how. I had the main parts of this chapter all ready for a while, but putting them together seemed almost impossible and I even considered re-writing it from the start. However, I feel like it's finally finished and, in the end, I like the result. Hope you enjoy it. Please review!**_

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12. NEW ADDICTION

"So, like we had discussed," Jane started, "the first paragraph is a threat, to me and to you and the team."

Lisbon nodded. "And the last sentence…"

"Means he somehow wants to stop playing his little game with me…"

"Like we had discussed."

"Yes."

"What about the second paragraph?"

"This is what I've just figured out," he said, looking deep into her eyes before going back to the letter. "Sometimes you must look harder, it says, so it suggests looking for him; now, starting from the beginning to reach the end… I think he means the house, in Malibu."

"The beginning?" Lisbon asked.

"Yes, the place where our game started."

"So, look for him… in your house? Do you think he's there now?"

"No, he _will _be there." He watched her expression ask him when silently, probably with an answer already in mind. "And when should the end be?" he read, "when there's nothing left to lose. Or, at least, you think there isn't."

"Next Thursday," she said, in a really low tone.

"He's going to be at the house next Thursday," he added.

Looking deep into the sadness in his eyes, she sighed. "It makes sense," she said, her voice not much louder than a whisper.

"We'll all be waiting for you," he went on reading, "including the one you wish to see the most."

Lisbon watched him as he folded the copy of the letter and put it back in his pocket and noticed he was no longer wearing his wedding ring. His face was, however, pure sadness at the memory of what day next Thursday was. She wanted so much to comfort him somehow; she took a hand to the top of his head, and ruffled his hair, causing a very brief smile to appear. She left the hand there.

"We'll be ready," she said. "We'll catch him."

While Van Pelt, Rigsby and Cho were investigating Steve Carter's past for a clue on what Mayfield meant and for something that could be used to make him talk, Lisbon and Jane decided to show him the letter, now that they knew what it meant.

"Mr. Jane," Carter said, as they entered the interrogation room. "I almost thought I wasn't going to see you."

"Me too," Jane smiled. "But it turns out I have a reason to talk to you. So here I am."

Without a word, Lisbon threw the copy of the letter in front of the prisoner. He looked at it.

"Letter to P.J.? Addressed to you, I imagine?" he looked at Jane.

"I imagine," Jane repeated, then gave him some time to read. When he had finished, he spoke again. "So what do you know about it?"

Carter smiled. "Nothing. Where did you get this?"

"Cut the crap, Carter!" Lisbon said. "You know where we got this."

"Actually, I don't," he answered, "but I can imagine."

Jane sat down in front of him. "And what do you imagine?"

"I imagine Red John, of course," he chuckled, "it's not like you have all that many people left to write you letters, right?"

Jane looked down, biting his lip and nodding. "He's good," he looked at Lisbon.

"Do you have any idea of what the text means?" Lisbon asked.

Carter shrugged. "No idea."

"Liar," Jane said. "You have an idea. You're just not telling us."

"I do have the right to remain silent, though, don't I?" He turned to Lisbon. "Huh, Teresa?"

Jane had to contain a reaction to that piece of shit using her first name.

Lisbon nodded. "Come on, Jane. Let's just get out of here."

* * *

The rest of the day went by uneventful; Lisbon still wanted to talk to Joseph Morgan again, but he wasn't answering his phone, so she figured she could try again later. Rigsby, Cho, and Van Pelt hadn't yet found much about Carter's past or Mayfield as well. Hightower had already been notified of the meaning of the letter and a meeting would be scheduled to design the operation that would take place on Thursday. Jane had been depressed and distant the whole day, so, when Lisbon decided there was nothing else to do at the station, she approached the corner where he had sat most of the day and took the seat next to him.

He smiled sadly at her and then looked down again. During that day, he had been invaded by memories and thoughts related to the following Thursday, including the voice of his addiction saying he shouldn't have told Lisbon about the meaning of the letter, that he should have kept it to himself so he could go meet Red John alone. It had been a tough day for his recovery of sorts; he felt like an addict who had fallen off the wagon. All he could think about was getting to Red John and avenging his family.

"How bad is it?" Lisbon asked. "In a scale of one to ten?"

Jane looked at her green eyes and saw so much tenderness and concern that he couldn't help but smile through his darkness.

"I'd have to say ten," he answered.

She took his hand in her hands. "How would you like," she started, smiling, "to go have something to drink, and hear about my…" she looked down, a little embarrassed but amused at the same time, then looked at him again, "teenage years?"

Jane suddenly smiled like a boy on Christmas. "Including which instrument you used to play?"

Lisbon smiled crookedly, bending her head to the side. "Including _if_ I used to play an instrument."

Jane scoffed. "Which you did."

She sighed. "All right, I did."

He smiled widely. "I'm getting better already."

They spent the next two hours alternating between beer and tequila shots as they told each other stories about their youth. Jane asked all the silly details he had always wanted to know about Lisbon's past and she learned a whole lot more about his early carnival years and how he had started in the psychic business. They stopped drinking and decided to leave when they felt like they were about to get too drunk. They took a cab to the hotel and Lisbon took Jane to his room.

"So, here we are," she said.

"Thank you, so much," Jane said, sincerely.

"You're welcome," she smiled at him.

Lisbon turned around to leave, but she felt a hand on her waist, pulling her and turning her around, and in the next millisecond Jane's mouth was on hers in a slow, deep kiss, that took several minutes. Jane had been resisting the impulse of kissing her all night, and, at the sight of her leaving, he couldn't help himself. When the kiss ended, Lisbon felt lightheaded, and Jane smiled, proud of his effect on her. Then, as reality set in again, and she had to leave him and he had to walk right back into his dark loneliness, sadness took over his expression and made his smile fade. Lisbon saw it happen, and became suddenly worried about leaving him.

"Do you want me to stay for the night?" she offered. "Just to… make sure you're all right?"

"You don't have to…" he answered, knowing he shouldn't drag her into it, but hoping she would insist.

"But I can."

He hesitated. "Would you do that?"

There was some sparkle in his eyes, already so usually difficult to resist. She scoffed, shaking her head, and that was her answer.

"You promise to tell me something interesting about you every time I get worse on the scale?"

"Only when you really do."

"And how are you going to know when it's true or not?" His eyes challenged her.

"I can tell," she challenged back.

"No, you can't."

"Oh, trust me. I can tell."

They entered the room. The most surprising thing for both of them was that none of it was any awkward; Jane lent her a shirt of his for her to sleep in, and she went to the bathroom to change. When she came back, she noticed his initials on the cuff, and chuckled.

"Like I'm a property of Mr. P. J.," she laughed. He laughed, too, amused at the idea.

He had already changed into his pajamas. Wordlessly, they lay in bed, together, like they did so every night, but not touching each other; they continued their conversation from where they had left off, and it took them about two more hours of talk before they finally fell asleep.

When Jane woke up, he looked beside him and felt glad to see Lisbon there, sleeping peacefully, facing him. She had managed to make him avoid his guilt and addiction for a whole night. Sunlight was illuminating the bedroom, making her skin look even fairer against the light blue of his shirt. He lay there watching her breathing calmly, in and out, her chest moving in that rhythm, and, as he saw that the shirt revealed a bit of her cleavage, he remembered how soft her skin felt. Her hair was messily spread on the pillow, and he didn't fight the impulse of caressing her scalp. That seemed to wake her up a little, just enough to make her roll in his direction. Unable to stop himself, Jane slipped an arm under her and brought her to him, laying her head on his chest, feeling the sweet perfume of her hair as she cuddled to him, whispering "Jane" in her sleep.

After holding her like that for almost an hour, Jane's phone suddenly rang and he carefully got out of bed, trying not to wake her up, to answer it.

"Hello," he said, walking towards the window. It was about the apartment he had applied for; he had been accepted. "That's great news, thank you very much." He shut his phone and turned around to stare at Lisbon's figure, sleeping on his bed. He started to think about moving into his new apartment: buying new furniture, maybe painting a few walls, taking the things he still had to the new place. New neighbors, new commute to work, new residential phone number. A place of his own, which didn't bring any old memories. It sounded like a new, scary beginning. And it felt bad to feel good about it.

* * *

It was Hightower's decision to transfer Steve Carter to the California State Prison, in Sacramento, on the kidnapping and assault of a state officer charges, since the team had to be back to prepare for Thursday. Lisbon was woken up by the boss's call, and, after she hung up, she remembered where she was and why. Jane was not there, but she heard the sound of the shower and figured that was where he was. In a hurry, she just changed out of his shirt and went straight to her room to take a shower herself.

When she was ready, she called Cho with the news and told him to get the rest of the team ready to leave by the end of the morning. About ten minutes later, when she was almost done packing, there was a knock on the door. She had a pretty good idea of who it was, but she looked through the peephole just to check. She opened the door for him with a smile which he corresponded.

"Good morning," Jane said, contemplating how beautiful she looked, as if he hadn't seen her for decades.

"Good morning," she answered. "We're going back to Sacramento, Hightower's orders."

"I know, Cho called. I'm ready."

"I'm almost, do you want to come in and wait?'

"I'd love to," he said, entering the room. "The truth is I wasn't feeling so good again."

She turned to face him, concern all over her face.

"I've got an apartment."

Lisbon could see his angst. She approached him. "That's actually great news," she said. "It's going to help you feel like you're starting over. It's good."

He took a deep breath, and smiled. "Guess I'm going to need you around to remind me of that."

"All right," she reassured, nodding, and containing the impulse of hugging him. Instead, she turned around and went back to packing.

Jane thought about how just the sight of her already helped him feel better. She was zipping her bag. "I think you're my new addiction," he announced, with his hands in his pockets. Lisbon turned swiftly around to face him, frowning.

"Like addiction to painkillers," he explained. "When I'm with you, I don't feel pain."

Lisbon smiled crookedly, hanging her bag on her shoulder and approaching him. "Is that how they're calling it these days?"

She turned around and left him smiling, until he followed her out of the room.

An exclusive flight was chartered for the transportation of CBI prisoner Steve Carter. It was a tense but successful operation, and the prisoner arrived safely at the California State Prison. The team went out for lunch together and then directly to a meeting with Hightower and other CBI members for the planning of what was already being called 'The Thursday Operation". The topics discussed were basically the team that would go in, with what kind of equipment, and other tactic issues.

It was a difficult operation to plan, because they didn't have many details; they had no idea of at what time Jane was expected to be at the house or who exactly would be there to meet him – how many people, if Red John would really be there, how these people would be equipped. In the initial plan, Jane was used as bait, as though he was arriving alone. Lisbon wasn't happy with the idea, but she didn't have a better one. Jane thought about how his first impulse would be to actually show up alone, without a team to back him up. He looked at Lisbon, who seemed disturbed.

The meeting took the rest of the day, and it would continue on the next. As it finished, Lisbon took Jane by his arm to a corner where she asked him, apprehensively, "are you sure you can do this?"

He stared back at her, asking himself that question.

"Because you don't have to, I can pull you out of this. You're a civilian, you don't have any obligation to go in."

He noticed her hands were shaking. He thought about how nothing would matter if it were other times; ready or not, he would go in.

"I don't know, Lisbon," he answered, truthfully.

Jane feared, like she probably did, that, if he came to face Red John on his own, that his addiction to revenge would speak louder than any plan. He thought that she probably wanted him to say he wanted out of the plan. He didn't know that he could give her that answer.

She took a deep breath. "Take some time to think," she said.

"I will," he promised.

She nodded. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," he said, thinking that he didn't want to make her more worried than she already was. "I'm good."

After a while staring at him, trying unsuccessfully to make sure he was really all right, Lisbon gave up. "Well, I'm going home," she said. "If you need anything…"

Jane nodded. "All right," he said. "Good night."

"Night," she said, turning around and leaving. He wasn't happy to see her go, but he figured he needed some time alone to think; he was going to the attic as soon as everyone had left.

* * *

It was two in the morning and Jane was lying down, trying to think. He tried to picture the next Thursday; would Red John really be there? Or was that letter supposed to deviate the team's attention while something else happened? Was he capable of controlling his urges for revenge if he went in as bait and ended up meeting Red John, face to face?

The thought of actually meeting Red John urged him to contact the CBI and have the whole thing called off; he could say that he had interpreted the letter wrong, that he had received a call, anything, and once the CBI was no longer involved, he could go there on his own, hoping to find his enemy and get his revenge. But that was his addiction talking; he had to fight that kind of thought, that kind of feeling. Maybe that was exactly what Red John expected him to do, to be there on his own, unprepared.

He sat up, drying the sweat from his forehead, feeling like he couldn't do this on his own anymore; he could no longer avoid these feelings alone. He needed Lisbon, but he didn't want to go see her. He had already dragged her deep enough into his problems. He took his phone several times, intending to call her, but gave up. He suddenly remembered his wedding ring, inside his overnight bag. He lay down again, trying to get a hold on himself. At least, when he would act exclusively on his addiction, he used to be more self-sufficient.

Lisbon was having trouble sleeping, worrying about Jane, thinking about him in that dark attic, about what he might be thinking or feeling, and what decisions might come out of it. She wanted to call him, to ask him how he was, but what if he was sleeping? Besides, she trusted him to get in touch with her if he needed her. Or, at least, she wanted to.

She was also worried about the operation. Was Red John really going to show up for the encounter or was it some kind of trap? Why would he give himself so easily like that, knowing that the letter would reach the CBI? Or did he expect Jane to once more act on his own and not reveal the letter's meaning to anyone? Which he hadn't done; as promised, he had told her the truth. That had made her really happy.

Her phone suddenly rang, making her jump, startled, before picking it up. "Hello?"

"Lisbon? You're awake?"

It was Jane's voice. Lisbon sighed, relieved. "Yes, and so are you, apparently."

"I'm actually at your door. I figured the phone would scare you less than the bell."

She smiled. "I'll be right down."

Jane regretted having eventually decided to come to her apartment, but when she opened the door, wearing one of her sporty pajamas with a robe on top of it, smiling at him, he felt better instantly; she could light his darkness like nothing else. He felt he was smiling and that it was probably a very silly smile.

"Come in," she said, after a while of staring and smiling in silence.

"I was trying to think about the operation, on Thursday, but I just couldn't think clearly," he said, after she had closed the door.

Lisbon smiled. "Come on, let's talk about it."

He took the hand she was offering, and followed her up the stairs and into her bedroom, like he was used to doing that. He was amazed when he found out that her room smelled like her, and its whole organization was also so typical of her. They sat together on her bed.

"I don't know what to expect from Thursday," Jane started.

"Well," Lisbon scoffed, "I don't think anybody knows what to expect. We can't be sure of anything."

"What if he shows up? And what if he doesn't? If he's not going to show up, then what is going to happen?"

Lisbon shook her head. "I don't know. We have to be ready for anything. That's why I think you shouldn't go in." She made a pause, looking deep into his eyes. "You have no training, and you have…"

"An addiction," he completed.

"Yes. But it should be your decision."

Jane nodded. "Right."

Lisbon watched him, that darkness and sadness all over his expression. "How bad?"

He looked up at her. "Nine."

"What can I do?"

Jane couldn't help but love the affection and sympathy in her eyes, as well as he couldn't help closing the distance between them and kissing her lightly on her lips. They tasted so sweet. She responded just as lightly and he embraced her with both arms. She slowly parted her lips, inviting him in, as one of her hands moved slowly amongst his hair while the other rested softly on his chest. He accepted her offer and moved his tongue in to thoroughly explore the interior of her mouth, making her moan softly in delight. It lasted for a few moments, until she broke the contact, slowly, moving back just enough to look into his eyes.

He stared at her with a very serious expression on his face. "You can kiss me like that," he said, as an answer to her question, and held her gaze for another minute. "And, this time, don't let me stop you."

She approached him slowly and did as he said, brushing her lips against his, slowly at first but in an increasing speed. He squeezed her tight in his arms as she kissed him. She broke it and approached his ear. "Don't listen to the voices in your head. You're a good man." She took his earlobe with her teeth, then sucked it gently. "You never wanted anything bad to happen. To anyone."

He groaned as she kissed and licked his neck just below the ear. "You deserve a second chance. They would've wanted you to move on." He concentrated on her words, trying hard to listen to them. They, along with her caresses, were doing a good job silencing his guilt and addiction for now. She started to open his shirt, still trailing kisses down his neck. "You're an arrogant, self-centered, annoying, sadistic bastard." She was now kissing his throat just above the shoulder. "But I love you."

Jane smiled widely and reached for her robe, which he quickly got rid of. Then he helped her remove his shirt and vest, after which he kissed her hungrily on the lips again, making her have to struggle for air when he broke it to remove her t-shirt. He kissed her again, pushing her hard against the bed, proceeding to kiss her now exposed skin, beginning from her throat and going down, her hands helping him find his way as they stroked his hair.

Lisbon knew that she belonged to him, whether he was going to stop her this time or not. She belonged to him and she would wait for him to belong to her as well, even if he was never ready for her at all. She clutched to his skin as though the strength with which she held him would help keep him with her, as though she needed to have him close to breathe, to survive. And if he would stop her now, she would understand, but she knew she would hurt like hell; and that was exactly what she had been trying to avoid for so long, being hurt by a man whom she loved. But weren't those, she thought, the only people who could hurt us anyway? The ones we love? Is being alone, without anybody to love, any better than hurting? Suddenly, she wasn't ready to answer that question anymore.

And as Jane took her in his hands, he felt like he owned her; as they, together, struggled for air, moaning in pleasure, whimpered when the time came and then relaxed in each other's arms, he felt like he no longer could treat this as a matter of him being ready to act on his love for her or not; he had just sealed a commitment of love with her. Now, that he had her resting on his chest, enveloped by his arms, her heart steadily slowing down in sync with his as she regained the ability to breathe in and out properly, looking so unusually vulnerable and fragile, he knew he had a responsibility to keep her safe. She had for a long time convinced herself that she was fine being on her own, safe from harm; yet, she had given up on that for him. She had undressed herself of her clothes, fears, traumas and shameful past stories, and shown herself entirely to him, hoping he would take her as she was. Being with her or not was no longer something his guilt could decide for him; if he should leave her now, another kind of guilt would be born inside him, chasing after him to speak of the love she had given him and he had promised in exchange.

So he held her tight, because he wasn't going anywhere.


	13. Thursday

_**Each day it becomes harder to write this. We're close to the end now, maybe two more chapters after this one. Thank you all so much for reading so far. I hope you enjoy this, please review!**_

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13. THURSDAY

Jane opened his eyes and slowly got used to the half-darkness as a little bit of sunlight came into the room. From that quantity of light, he could tell it was a rainy day, even though the rain was probably very thin, because he couldn't hear it. He squeezed Lisbon a little to test if she was awake, but she didn't respond. He could feel her steady breath against his chest as she lay with her head on it and one arm across his stomach. She had come to spend his first night in his new apartment with him, after shopping, the day before, for a few basic items of furniture with him – a bed, a couch, a stove, a fridge.

It felt like a parallel reality, like a wrinkle in time. Like there was no past, no tragedy, no future, no Thursday Operation. Like there was only him and Lisbon, buying furniture and spending the night together. It was so easy, but it was like he had described to her, like taking painkillers. The pain was gone, even though he knew the cause was still there, somewhere. He had thought that being with Lisbon made him feel capable of fighting his darkness, but he noticed, now, thinking about it, that he was avoiding his darkness: but it was still there, and that's why it would attack him so effectively when he was alone.

And today, reality would catch up with him, one way or another, because today was Thursday.

Because of it, both of them had had trouble sleeping. A certain moment during the night, Jane had woken up and found Lisbon awake as well. He noticed that she had been crying.

"_What is it?" he asked. _

_Lisbon just shook her head, trying unsuccessfully to hide her tears. She didn't want Jane to see her crying. _

"_Come on, what is it? Is it about tomorrow?"_

_She just gave up and started sobbing again. "I'm scared." She was remembering about when he had told her he would try to get to Red John alone, because he didn't care about what could happen to him. "I'm scared of what you might do."_

_Jane sighed. She had good reasons to be scared. _

"_I'm scared, too," he confessed, his hand drawing circles on her shoulder. "I don't know yet that I can completely control myself around Red John."_

"_That's not all," she said, trying to get her tears under control. "I need to know that you will not disregard your own life. That you will prioritize getting out of there alive."_

_He looked away; she had taken him by surprise. He hadn't thought about that, at all. His shortness of reaction caused Lisbon to sit up so she would be able to face him._

"_Jane… You say you love me, right?"_

_He looked at her; her voice was challenging. _

"_Well, if you love me, you _will_ get out of there alive. You hear me?"_

_Her voice trembled with fear and some kind of anger, as she was clearly trying to use her senior agent authority._

"_I hear you," Jane answered, after a pause. Then she nodded, and lay down on his chest again. _

Without another word, they had gone back to sleep. He had been startled by her concern, since he had decided not to go in as bait. At least, not like he was supposed to in the original plan. In the new organization, he stayed back until the team knew what they were dealing with. Lisbon, Van Pelt and Rigsby would go in first, and the house would be surrounded by a SWAT team. Through the radio, they would inform Cho and Jane of the situation, and whether they should go in or not. Jane had decided upon doing that as a means to both give Lisbon some peace of mind and himself a good reason not to lose control over his addiction. He had told her about that during the second day planning the operation; before going into the meeting, he had told her he wanted to talk to her.

"_I don't think going in is a good idea," he said. "I fear that I might lose control. And I don't want to." He really didn't; he had accepted, the night before, that he now had a commitment with Lisbon and he wouldn't want to let her down, so he now had a new and very powerful reason not to give in to his addiction and guilt. _

_Lisbon sighed, visibly relieved, nodding. "All right."_

"_But I want to be there. And I want to go in, as soon as everyone's sure it's safe." _

_She nodded again, a little less relieved. "Fair enough."_

But it hadn't been easy to make that decision. And it certainly hadn't been easy to maintain it. During the whole meeting, as Lisbon had told everyone about Jane's decision and they had started to design a new course of action, he had felt horrible urges to change his mind, as well as he had experienced one of those horrible wars between opposites, as his addiction told him he shouldn't decide upon the safest course, but upon the one that led him to Red John. He had also had to contain impulses of taking Lisbon's hand for comfort, but he knew it would look weird for the rest of the people in the room; they hadn't had a conversation about it, but it was clear they were not to tell anybody at work about their relationship.

He could tell, though, that Van Pelt had noticed something. From all of his colleagues, Jane would say that she was the most observant. And, since she liked a challenge, she always paid attention to his tricks and techniques; she had learned to pick up from small details. Therefore, she had probably noticed the difference in the way he and Lisbon now talked, looked or even referred to each other and concluded that something had changed between them. _He_ certainly had noticed her intrigued looks towards them, paying attention to their every movement. He could even detect how she would sometimes look at him with an "I told you so" look, recalling a conversation they had once had.

"_What is it between you and Lisbon anyway?" she asked, out of the blue, after another bantering session between the two of them._

"_What do you mean?" he was surprised by her question._

"_Oh, come on, Jane," she said. "I've seen the way you look at her."_

"_What way?" he asked, faking an insulted voice. _

"_Like you admire her, like she fascinates you."_

"_Meh. You have such an imagination, Grace," he commented, smiling and going back to his sudoku. _

"_No, it's not imagination. I'm just paying attention."_

_He looked at her again. She had that quiet smile she would wear when she was proud of herself. _

"_It's no use to pay attention to the signs if you interpret them wrong."_

_She smiled again. "I'm not interpreting wrong. I can see you, Jane. You're a romantic. And I see her, too. How come you're the only one who doesn't really treat her like a boss and she lets you do that?"_

_She walked towards his couch. "I know you don't consider yourself capable of loving anybody else, because you feel like you still need to be faithful to your wife," she pointed at his wedding ring. "But the truth is that no one is capable of spending the rest of their lives in mourning. Your heart is going to fall in love, whether you like it or not. Or _has_ already fallen."_

_She walked away and he looked at the direction where she had gone, a bit shocked, thinking about what she had said._

So, if she had the chance, she would probably say "I told you so", like she always said "eureka" when she found something. As for Rigsby, he had probably not noticed anything different, and Cho, well, if he had, he would never make any comments to him or Lisbon.

He sighed. Right now, he was staring around him at his new bedroom, lying on his new bed, with his new girlfriend. All of a sudden. A month before that, he could never have pictured this scene; he would never have allowed himself to even entertain a thought about something like this. Just as much as he couldn't have, and could not now, picture the end of Red John. Could it be possible that he would be caught today? Unfortunately, there was no way of knowing.

All Jane knew was that, when he actually pictured the possibility of seeing Red John, of being able to do something against him, this new life just didn't work; it belonged to a new chapter, that couldn't actually start before the previous one ended; and it had to end with his revenge. Right now, he didn't know if that was his addiction or himself talking; it was just the way he felt. Right now, there were no opposites fighting inside him; he just felt like finishing that awful chapter of his life. Maybe then he would be able to fully commit to this new life without it feeling surreal. He squeezed Lisbon in his arms again. He really wanted to be able to do that.

This time, she responded to his squeeze; she was waking up. And didn't she look gorgeous when she woke up, Jane thought, upon seeing her huge, green eyes slowly opening up.

"Morning," she murmured, and Jane's answer was a kiss, to which she lazily responded. "What time is it?" she asked, suddenly breaking the kiss, startled, probably remembering what day that was.

"Don't worry, it's early."

She got off the bed and went to the bathroom to take a shower, in a hurry, even though it was early; she felt that, maybe, if she did everything in a hurry, the day would go by faster. And she couldn't wait to see the end of that day. When she came out of the bathroom, she was ready for work. Jane was waiting for her, sitting on the bed, still wearing the t-shirt and boxers he had worn to sleep. He looked at her like he had something to say.

"Is anything wrong?" Lisbon asked, anxious.

He smiled, a little ashamed of what he was going to say. "It's… I've been thinking, and I don't think I'm getting any better."

Lisbon got down on her knees and took his hands in hers.

"Of course you are. Look at this." She gestured around her. "You're living in an apartment, not in a deserted attic or in an empty house. This is real progress."

He shook his head, with that sad smile that Lisbon hadn't missed at all during the past few days.

"I'm doing the things I'm supposed to do in order to move on, but I'm just avoiding everything. I'm not actually getting better."

Lisbon smiled, lightly and encouragingly. "Were you expecting to overcome all these years in a few days?"

He looked deep into her green eyes, which looked like two shining emeralds, and smiled.

"When you put it like that it sounds foolish, indeed."

She smiled. "It's not foolish," she said, in a quiet voice, stroking his hands.

Jane swallowed, knowing she wouldn't like what he was going to say next. "Look… If I do anything stupid today, I need you to know that it has nothing to do with not loving you."

She had actually been expecting to hear something like that, but she had no readymade reaction, so she took a deep breath, trying to figure out how to respond to that.

"I _need _you to know that," he repeated, squeezing her hand. "Like you said, it's too many years compared to only a few days. I don't know if I can control this."

It was really difficult for Lisbon to do that, but she just swallowed and looked at him. "All right. But promise to _try_."

He nodded. "I promise."

* * *

There was something different in the atmosphere surrounding the team as they prepared for the operation, like everyone could feel the greatness of today's chance, the possible and unpredictable outcomes, the inevitable consequences. Jane almost felt like an outsider, looking in, even though he was such an important part of this. It was just that he had never participated in an opportunity of catching Red John without allowing his addiction total control over him. It was different, unusual. Lisbon made him wear a bulletproof vest, like everyone else. And he agreed, like everyone else. Different, unusual.

He felt sort of numb as the car moved in the direction of his house, like that wasn't real, like it was one of those dreams in which the dreamer doesn't really participate, only watches. He nearly had to remind himself where they were going and what for. He became mad at himself; he was going to chase Red John, and there was a possibility he might actually find him. What the hell was wrong with him?

There was definitely something wrong with Jane. Lisbon was observing him in the backseat, looking distracted and not nearly as nervous as she would expect him to look. She was probably more nervous than he seemed to be, anybody on the team was probably more nervous than he seemed to be. And that didn't tell her that he was okay; it told her he sure as hell was not okay; what if the whole nervousness which was hiding inside him somewhere decided to show itself at once, in a bad time?

She knew it was bad to go into an operation like this, hunting the serial killer who wants to kill the man you love. She had certainly avoided such situations before. Actually, she hadn't only avoided situations in which she was in love with a colleague, but situations in which she was in love, in general. And she had decided not to care about any of her precautions because she decided to accept that she was in love with Jane. A terrible idea, she knew. But she knew she couldn't have done it any differently.

That morning, when she had woken up in his apartment, surrounded by his arms, she had wished things could be different, could be simpler. That there wasn't a serial killer whom they had to chase but could never catch, that this person had not ruined Jane's life, that they could just be two simple, not so badly hurt people, who could be together in a simple, content life. Yet, here they were, on their way to meet said serial killer or whatever the hell he had prepared for them.

The SWAT team was already in position when the team arrived; the house had been under surveillance for the two previous days and no one had been seen entering it. That should make it easier, Lisbon thought; Van Pelt, Rigsby and her would go in first to make sure the house was empty and, if it really was, Cho and Jane could follow them and they would wait for anybody to show up. Before getting into position, she exchanged a look with Jane, hoping that, from it, he would gather her reminder about his promise to try to survive this. He looked apprehensive now, but he gave her a small smile and a nod. After that, she went in, pointing her gun ahead, followed by Rigsby and then Van Pelt.

It felt weird to be standing outside his own house, Jane thought, while the team was going in to look for Red John. He felt something ache inside his chest when Lisbon disappeared inside the hall entrance, Rigsby and Van Pelt behind her. Something told him he was the one who had to be going in, not them. He regretted his decision for the thousandth time, and then tried to control his emotions again. If he went in and found Red John, he would probably do something stupid that would make the killer win, again, and maybe for the last time. He had to keep reminding himself of that.

Lisbon could see her gun shaking in front of her as she walked in, slowly and carefully, hearing only the steps of Rigsby and Van Pelt behind hers. The entrance and the living room were clear. The three separated at this point; Lisbon and Van Pelt went up the stairs and Rigsby stayed behind to finish checking the first floor.

Lisbon could hear her heart beating inside her chest as Van Pelt checked the first room and she guarded the hallway. When Van Pelt came out, signaling it was clear, both went to the other room, the one where Jane's family had been killed. Lisbon took a deep breath before pushing the door open, knowing that, if Red John was to be there or had prepared something, this is where they would find it or him. She pushed the door forcefully and let it swing open. The first thing she noticed was that the red, smiley face was no longer visible on the wall, which Jane had told her had been repainted.

The second thing she noticed about the room was that it wasn't empty.

Lisbon stopped breathing in shock; there was a man sitting on the floor, who stood up at the sight of her. He looked calm.

"Mr. Morgan?" Lisbon asked, lowering her gun a little, but still pointing it at him. "What are you doing here?"

Joseph Morgan looked behind her, at Van Pelt, then behind her, at the hallway, probably to check if anyone else was coming.

"When did you get here?" Van Pelt asked.

"A few days ago," he said, nervousness apparent in his tone. "Where's Mr. Jane?"

"Mr. Jane's not here," was Lisbon's automatic answer. "What do you want from him?"

"I need to talk to him."

"He works for me, talk to me." She heard the trembling of her own voice.

"It really has to be him, agent."

"Answer my question, Morgan," Lisbon raised her voice. "What are you doing here?"

"I needed to talk to Mr. Jane," he said, looking scared. "I researched his address and found this house."

It actually made sense, Lisbon thought. "Why didn't you call him?"

"I lost my phone, his number was there."

It made sense again. And it explained why he hadn't been answering her calls. But still, he was there on that Thursday, and that was beyond weird. Where the hell was Rigsby? Had he found something downstairs? She leaned her head to the side to talk on the radio but, in a movement that took less than a second, Joseph Morgan was suddenly pointing a gun at her.

"No radio," he shouted. "Drop your guns."

"What are you doing, Joseph?" Lisbon asked, not moving her gun. "You're not a killer, where did you get that gun?"

"You don't know if I'm a killer or not," he said. "Put your gun down."

"No way, Joseph. I'm not putting my gun down and neither is she," Lisbon waved her head in Van Pelt's direction. "It's two against one. Don't make it any worse for yourself. Drop _your_ weapon and let me take you to our office, we'll sort it out."

"Come inside the room, the two of you," he ordered, looking nervous. "Away from the door."

They were both at the door; Lisbon decided that doing as he said was a good way of distracting him while she quietly activated the radio, and waved her head to Van Pelt so she would move into the room with her. As they did, Lisbon tried to lean her head to the side again.

"I said no radio!" he shouted.

Lisbon was unsure of what to do. She could take a shot at him, but it was dangerous; he had a gun pointed at her. He moved carefully and closed the door.

"Where is Mr. Jane?" he suddenly screamed, after some silence. "Why isn't he here, he was supposed to come!"

Lisbon started to get scared; he appeared to be out of control.

"Calm down, Joseph," she said. "Mr. Jane is in the office, I can take you to him and you can talk to him."

"He has to come here!" He said, some weird emotion playing in his eyes.

"All right," Lisbon said, "put down your gun and we can bring him here."

Or she would handcuff him and take him away to explain himself to Cho. Morgan seemed to be thinking about it.

Then the door opened all of a sudden and, before Lisbon could know who it was, she heard the sound of Morgan's gun going off, and a groan of pain.

"No!" Van Pelt screamed. Lisbon looked and saw Rigsby on the ground, a hand to his arm, and blood. Aiming his gun at Lisbon, Morgan went for Rigsby's, which had fallen on the floor when he had been shot, and then he closed the door again.

"What's going on?" Cho's voice came through the radio. "We heard a gunshot."

"Don't even think about answering that," Morgan said.

"This is nor happening…" Lisbon muttered to herself, her gun still pointed at Morgan, her legs shaking so hard that she thought she might fall on her knees at any second. "So it was you?" she asked, and Morgan looked at her again. "You wrote that damn letter."

"Yes, I did," Morgan answered, his voice trembling as much as hers. "But Mr. Jane is not here!"

"And he won't be," she answered. "So you might as well turn yourself in right now while you'll only be charged with assault."

"No, lady," he answered, a crazy look in his eyes. "I'm waiting for Mr. Jane."

Lisbon scoffed. "Joseph, this place is surrounded with cops; whatever your plans were, they're not going to work."

"But I'm pointing a gun at you."

"And if you shoot me, Van Pelt here is going to shoot you."

"I'll still have shot you." He smiled. "You don't understand. I don't care about my own life. If I die, at least I'll die for a purpose."

Lisbon shuddered as she thought about how much what he had just said sounded like what Jane had told her, about not worrying about his life as long as he killed Red John first. Anyway, there that word was, again, _purpose_.

"Holy crap," Lisbon said, shaking her head. "You're one of his puppets."

"Everyone is someone's puppet; whose puppet are you?"

Lisbon squinted, incredulous.

"You know what you're going to do?" he said. "You're going to tell your colleagues on the radio that the house is clear and that they all can go."

She smiled. "And why would I do that, Joseph?"

"Because if you don't, I'll shoot you."

"Nice try. But they would sense something's wrong and invade this place. You'd be arrested or dead anyway."

But Lisbon's confidence was threatened by the sound of hurried steps coming from the hallway.

"_Gunshot!" a SWAT officer announced to Cho, and Jane's first thought in response to his remark was that it was stupid to state that; of course Cho and himself had heard the damn gunshot. _

But the real problem was that he had no idea of who had shot at whom.

"What's going on?" Cho asked through the radio. "We heard a gunshot."

There was no answer. Jane felt his whole body trembling. He could tell, by the sound, that the shot had come from upstairs. What if Lisbon had been injured? Who had shot the gun? Was it Red John? What if Red John had killed Lisbon in the same place where he had killed his family? He had to go there and find out what had happened. What if Lisbon had shot Red John? Either way, he had to be there. Deciding to stay behind had been really stupid. Didn't he know better? He couldn't just stay back and wait. _That_ was what he wasn't capable of.

When Cho was busy talking to a guy from the SWAT team, he ran as fast as he could inside the house. "Jane!" he heard Cho yell. He ran up the stairs, remembering and feeling the same dread he had felt when he had gone up those stairs and through that hallway, up to his bedroom, to see what he had seen. He felt like he was back to that night. He ran and, when he found the door closed, he hesitated for a second. What was he going to find? A dead body? Whose? And who was the killer? He took a deep breath, and opened the door slowly.

Jane saw a face he wasn't expecting, but, as soon as he saw Joseph Morgan, everything made sense. Red John wouldn't have needed to plant the diary; Morgan had written it himself. Besides, he had acted very weird when the team had gone talk to him to get it. And now, thinking about it, he realized he hadn't really given him his cell phone number. How could he have had the number to call him about the diary in the first place? He noticed Rigsby sitting down, leaning on a wall with a hand on top of a wound in his arm – the gunshot. Then, looking at the other side, he saw Lisbon and Van Pelt standing and pointing their guns at Morgan, and breathed out in relief.

He took a millisecond to contemplate the smiley-less wall, and felt something he could maybe describe as shock. How could he be shocked at something he already knew? It felt strange to stand in that room without the face. Under a layer of paint, though, he corrected himself, it was still there.

"Mr. Jane!" Morgan said, his eyes lighting up.

Lisbon couldn't believe it; when she saw Jane, at the door, she felt sick to her stomach. Her legs also started failing, and she struggled to keep standing. He looked at her, and his eyes were saying he was sorry. Hers were already watering. Who had told him to come up? Who had _let_ him come up? That couldn't be happening.

"Joseph," Jane said, trying to keep his tone casual. "So _you_ called this meeting."

"Yes, but you were supposed to come alone," the man replied.

"It wasn't clear in the invitation, I'm sorry," Jane smiled. "But we can be alone now. Let the others go."

"Jane, don't," Lisbon said, struggling to speak through her chattering teeth.

"It's okay, Lisbon," he said, without looking at her. "We just want to talk. Right, Joseph?"

"Actually, I'd like to take you with me. I'm going to take you to _him_."

Jane understood; he could tell, by Morgan's behavior, that he wasn't really a violent person. In fact, he was a person who had never stood out. Red John had probably lured him with the idea of giving his life some glorious purpose, like he did to all his accomplices. Now, he wanted to be the best student and bring Jane to his teacher so he could get a golden star. His only doubt was whether the whole idea of the letter was Morgan's, or if Red John had told him to do it.

Anyway, he knew that the only way to make sure Morgan didn't hurt anybody else was to do what he wanted, so he walked towards him, with his hands in the air. "Sounds tempting," he said.

"Jane, what are you doing?" Lisbon asked, trying to control her voice and the trembling of her outstretched arms, still pointing her gun at Morgan.

"You two," Morgan looked at her and Van Pelt, now completely calm, not by far resembling the nervous man of minutes before. "Put your guns down, toss them over."

Lisbon felt a tear rolling down her face as she heard Van Pelt putting her gun on the ground and kicking it in Morgan's reaction. At the same moment, Jane was reaching Morgan and he instantly pointed his gun at Jane's head. It was over. Lisbon took a deep breath, biting her lip, and put her gun on the floor. Then, containing a sob, she kicked it and it slid on the floor to reach Morgan.

"Now," Morgan instructed, "tell your team to get the hell out of here. On the radio, now, come on."

Jane watched the despair in Lisbon's expression as she took a deep breath and started speaking.

"Cho," she started, trying to control her voice. "We're clear. You can tell the SWAT team to go."

"What about the gunshot?" Cho asked, sounding confused. "And where's Jane?"

"It was Van Pelt, by mistake," she said, and then she looked at Jane, and it made it harder to control her voice. "Jane's here."

"Shouldn't we wait longer? Are you sure everything's all right?"

"Yes, Cho, I'm sure, what the hell? Just do it."

Jane contained a faint impulse of smiling at how natural that had sounded.

"Just thank them and tell them they can go," she went on.

"All right," Cho answered.

"Now what?" Lisbon asked.

"We wait until they're gone and then Mr. Jane and I leave."

"And go where?" her voice broke in the middle of the sentence.

"Wouldn't you like to know that?" Morgan smiled.

Lisbon contained her tears; she would hate to break down in front of that sick bastard. She thought about how she could have said something encoded to Cho, but she knew she couldn't take that risk. Morgan had a gun pointed at Jane's head, so she would do whatever he told her to.

A few minutes later, Cho's voice came through the radio. "They're gone. Where are you?"

Lisbon looked at Morgan, who winked at her. "We'll be right down," she said, feeling like she could throw up at any second.

The next few minutes seemed to happen in slow motion; Morgan told Van Pelt and Lisbon to help Rigsby walk; he followed, his gun aimed at Jane's head. They walked, slowly, down the hallway and the stairs, and then out of the house. "Holy shit," said Cho, when he saw the group coming out.

"Stop right there and put your hands in the air, or I'll shoot him."

Cho obeyed, not Morgan's order, but Lisbon's nod. Then she, Van Pelt and Rigsby joined him where he stood, watching Morgan tell Jane to get on the front seat of a car that had been parked there since before the surveillance on the house had started.

"If I notice anybody following me or any signs of police on my way, I'll shoot him. He's dying anyway, I'd just rather deliver him alive, but if I have to deliver him dead, it's all right."

Jane looked at Lisbon, and tried to convey in his expression that he believed everything was going to be okay, that he believed they would find a way. She understood, and shook her head, fury in her eyes, in a disagreeing gesture.

It was too difficult for Lisbon to just watch Morgan taking Jane away. She had to contain urges of running in their direction, trying to fight somehow. As they disappeared, she started sobbing loudly, mostly out of anger. She heard Van Pelt's voice in the background, calling an ambulance. Then she felt a hand on her shoulder.

"What do we do?" Cho asked.

"I don't know," was her honest answer.


	14. Hiding Behind a Mask

_**So, after this chapter, there will be only one mo**__**re, which is *almost* finished. Thanks to everyone who has read so far. Really, thank you so much. Oh, and, being new to the site and all, I've just found out that I can reply to reviews. So please, if anybody who reviewed ever thought I was being rude not to reply, forgive me! If I'd known any better, I would have replied to each comment saying how happy they make me and how crazy I am just waiting for them every time I post a new chapter. And I'll do so from now on. **_

_**I hope you enjoy this one!**_

_**

* * *

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14. HIDING BEHIND A MASK

"But how could he have been in the house, it'd been swept, there was nobody in there," said Van Pelt.

"There obviously _was_ somebody in there, and very well hidden, because he'd have to have arrived before the surveillance started," retorted Cho.

"What about the road block?" Rigsby asked. "Did they pass it yet?"

"No, they haven't," Lisbon answered, little patience left, "and it'll be no use if they do, 'cause the son of a bitch has a gun to Jane's head and the order is to let them pass!"

"But at least we'll know where they're going," Rigsby replied, trying to calm her down.

At that moment her cell phone rang, and it said "Patrick Jane" as the caller ID.

"Jane?" she answered, with desperation in her voice.

"This is Joseph Morgan, ma'am. The thing is, we've just gone through your road block and it was extremely irritating, so I'm just calling to warn you that, if there is another one, I'll blow up your friend's head, do you understand?"

Lisbon closed her eyes. "Yes, I understand. No more road blocks."

Without an answer, Morgan hung up.

"We can try to locate the cell phone's signal," Van Pelt said.

"Get on it," Lisbon answered, her voice trembling, "But I don't think it's going to be of much help."

Rigsby approached her. "Boss, we could still keep the road blocks. He's not going to shoot Jane, if he shoots him, he'll be arrested or killed."

She looked at him, with an incredulous expression. "I know you'd been shot, but were you not there when he said he didn't care if he died or not? That at least he would die for a purpose? Do I have to explain to you why I think we can't use conventional logic on this one?"

He sighed, with and expression that said he was sorry. He had been to the hospital, but the wound was only superficial, as the bullet hadn't penetrated on his flesh. It had been treated and bandaged and he had received painkillers, but he had refused to stay in the hospital because he wanted to help find Jane and Morgan. Van Pelt, who had been with him the whole time, had brought him back to the headquarters where Cho and Lisbon already were.

Lisbon looked out the window; the rain that had been threatening to fall during the whole morning and beginning of the afternoon had finally come. "Cho," she called, and he instantly approached her. "Go back to looking for something we can use as leverage with Carter. Maybe he has an idea of where they're heading. Ask Rigsby to help you and Van Pelt to keep looking for that Mayfield place."

With a nod, Cho promptly turned around to go obey her instructions. She left the bullpen and went for the stairs, which she climbed, heading towards Jane's attic. She entered it and looked at how it was empty again, without his things which she had helped him pack two nights before, after everyone else had already left. She approached the window and watched the rain, wondering where he was and what was going to happen to him.

She hadn't even stopped to make sense of what had happened between them, because it hadn't felt forced, or sudden, or awkward. It had felt natural. One day they were two colleagues and the next they were sharing feelings, nights, beds. And it felt natural, because she had loved him for a long time before that, even though it had taken her so long to admit it. And now, after only a few days, he had been taken from her, or worse, she had watched him go, with nothing she could do about it, and she suddenly felt lonely like few times before in her life.

* * *

After calling Lisbon to complain about the road block, Morgan threw Jane's cell phone out the window.

"Why did you have to do that, Joseph?" Jane was shaking his head, disapprovingly, and speaking in a calm tone. "What if we need to ask her anything else?"

"No way, you think I'm stupid? They were going to trace the call and find out where we're going."

Jane chuckled. "Joseph, you watch way too much TV."

He didn't answer, and a few minutes went by in silence. Jane was still driving, and he had been driving for about three or four hours now, he didn't know precisely, with Morgan pointing his gun at him at all times. They were driving through roads he didn't know and couldn't remember ever passing through, so he had no idea where they were heading.

"So, Joseph, is this about Jenna? About how I sort of convinced you the CBI hadn't done everything they could to prevent her death? Because I wasn't entirely honest with you then. I wanted you to divert them from the investigation, because I wanted them off the case. So I provoked you, hoping you would file a complaint and that this would have them back off."

It was Morgan's turn to chuckle. "That's what you do, huh? Push people's buttons to make them react the way you expect them to, to make them do the things you want them to do. Controlling everyone's actions. Like fucking God."

Jane smiled. "I'm quite sure God doesn't intend to control anything. Otherwise, many bad things that happen would have to be blamed on His will, things so horrible that, if you ever conceive the idea of a God, to think that He intends for these things to happen… Then believing in God doesn't give anybody any hope, just the certainty that, if God means such evil, then there is nothing good left to believe in."

Morgan seemed sort of impressed by the reply. Jane smiled. "But that's just my opinion."

There was another long moment of silence. Then, Morgan spoke.

"No. This is not about Jenna."

Jane analyzed him for a while. "Then what is it about? How did you get involved with Red John?" As Morgan seemed to be ignoring his questions, he insisted. "Please, I'd like to understand. We've been sitting together in this car the whole afternoon, I think we should understand each other a little bit."

"How I got involved with Red John is none of your business," he answered dryly. "But if your doubt is whether I got involved with him before or after Jenna died, here it goes; it was before. Long before. I got her to apply for the job. I faked the CV and the letters of recommendation."

"Oh, you did?" Jane was surprised; he had never read anything like that from his behavior; the only time he had noticed anything unusual had been when they had met him to get the diary. "And do you blame yourself? It was through your involvement with Red John and the fact that you involved her in this that she got killed. By your very boss."

Morgan grinned. "Trying your mind games on me, huh, Mr. Jane? It's not going to work. I don't feel any guilt. She's in a better place now, and she died for something bigger than me, her, or you."

Jane wondered if, when they arrived wherever they were going, he would get a chance to watch this brainwashing lecture which Red John's employees were subjected to when they got the job.

* * *

Almost an hour of thinking, dreading, and quietly crying later, Lisbon left the attic and went back to the bullpen, where she saw Cho hanging up the phone and standing up, then putting on his suit jacket. She just stood next to him.

"Please, tell me you're on to something."

He looked at her with a concerned expression, probably startled at how she hadn't even tried to hide her desperation, or at how her voice had cracked in the middle of the sentence, or at how her eyes were filling up with tears. He nodded.

"I am."

She smiled, a bit relieved, because she knew Cho wouldn't lie just to make her feel better. "Thank you."

He nodded again, respectfully, and left.

Lisbon looked around; Rigsby wasn't there, and she hoped he was also away chasing a lead. Van Pelt was simultaneously on the phone and on the computer, frowning, her eyes barely blinking, and Lisbon suddenly felt thankful for her team, because she didn't feel like she was capable of concentrating on anything right now.

Van Pelt hung up the phone and stood up, walking towards Lisbon. Her expression didn't give her much hope about what she was going to say.

"It's like a needle in a haystack, boss," she said. "Mayflower is the name of hundreds or streets, neighborhoods… I don't even know where to start."

Lisbon sighed. "Do what you think is best, Van Pelt. Continue on it or do something else, I simply can't make any decisions right now."

Van Pelt took her hand, which surprised her very much. "We'll find him, boss. I know it."

She shook her head, trying hard to believe her words, but not quite managing. "Van Pelt…"

"You have to believe it."

A tear escaped from Lisbon's eye, and she felt horribly embarrassed to be crying in front of one of her team members, but Van Pelt just pulled her into a hug, which made her instantly break down and start sobbing on her colleague's shoulder.

"It's going to be OK," Van Pelt said. "He must already have a plan to escape, if I know Jane. It's possible we will have worked our asses off trying to find him and before we find anything he'll show up, gloating about how we can't do anything without him."

"I wish I could believe you," Lisbon managed to say.

"Then just do."

* * *

Night had fallen when Morgan decided to switch places; he told Jane to pull over and, as soon as the car had stopped, he gave him a pair of handcuffs.

"Cuff your hands behind your back."

Jane scoffed. "I thought we were beyond that level of formality."

Morgan's answer was to show, with a movement of his hand, that he still had a gun pointed at him, so Jane didn't resist and did as Morgan said. Once he was cuffed, the man told him to get out of the car, and got out as well. Pointing his gun at Jane, he told him to take the passenger's seat. Jane sat and noticed he had chains in his hand. With those, Morgan tied Jane's feet together first and then his feet to his hands.

Jane laughed. "Come on, Joseph, it's not like I'm a dangerous serial killer."

His remark was completely ignored, as Morgan finished the job and walked around the car to take the driver's seat. "Now we're far away, your friends won't find us here. Not to mention where we're going."

Even though he was extremely tired from driving such long hours, Jane didn't particularly like having exchanged seats. Before, at least he had the distraction of paying attention to the road. Now, he was completely at the mercy of his thoughts. He reached for his pocket and felt the round form of his wedding ring inside it, which he had taken with him as a symbol of what that day meant, of what the opportunity of catching Red John meant. Now, if he was going to be delivered to him to be murdered, it also sounded fair to die with that symbol close to him.

Was he going to die tonight? Tomorrow? Was he going to find a way out of it? Was the team going to find him alive? Was he ever going to see Lisbon again? Thinking about her made him wish to live, to survive. He certainly didn't want to die leaving her as disappointed in him as she had looked when he had last seen her. It had obviously been a bad idea to run into the house to find out what was going on, but he couldn't blame himself for panicking at the sound of a shot fired inside the house where his family had been murdered while their killer might be there and the woman he loved certainly was.

He wondered again where they were headed. Was there a place where Red John worked? Worked as in recruited followers, decided upon victims, planned his next moves. He imagined if that was what Mayfield was, some sort of temple for Red John's operations. He remembered when he had met Red John; he had saved his life from a bunch of imitators of his who had planned to kill Jane in his honor. And then he had said verses of a poem to him, with his strange, metallic voice.

_Tiger, tiger, burning bright_

_In the forests of the night,_

_What immortal hand or eye_

_Could frame thy fearful symmetry?_

Jane felt a chill running through his spine at the memory. When was he going to see Red John again? Was he going to find out who he was, see the man behind the mask? Or would he die not knowing who had ended his life in all ways possible to end a man's life? With all these questions going through his head, Jane barely realized as his mind processes became steadily slower and he fell into a deep sleep.

When he opened his eyes again, it felt like he had only closed them for a few minutes, but it had been obviously longer than that, because he was not in the car anymore; he was now in a dark place, where he couldn't hear any sounds coming from anywhere. He could, though, as his eyes grew accustomed to the lack of illumination, see a faint light around a frame that looked like a door, so it looked like he was locked inside a room. He was sitting in a comfortable chair, and he noticed, with a few movements of his hands and feet, that he still wore those chains which Morgan had used to restrain him. With another movement, he noticed there was one more chain, linking him to the chair. Great, he thought.

How could he have slept through the most important part? And how come he hadn't woken up when they had arrived, when someone had obviously carried him out of the car and into that room. He wanted so much to have seen the outside of the place where he had been taken to, as well as the exchanges between Morgan and whoever he would have met when they arrived. It occurred to him that maybe Morgan had thought about that and drugged him after he fell asleep, because he certainly hadn't done so before.

"Comfortable?" came suddenly a voice from behind him, making him jump in his seat.

It was _his_ voice; he would never forget its sound, not in a million years.

Jane tried to control his breathing. "Not quite," he answered. "How come we always meet like this; I'm all tied up and you're free? Doesn't seem fair, does it?"

He heard the steps coming from behind him, then passing beside him, then stopping in front of him, and he saw his silhouette; he wore something black, covering his whole body, and by the somewhat muffled sound of his voice, he could tell he was wearing a mask, even though he couldn't see it.

"Seems satisfactorily fair to me. Would there be another way for us to talk, peacefully?"

"Why don't you take off that mask? And show yourself?"

"I am showing myself."

Jane scoffed. "Yeah, you certainly are. In the darkness, wearing a mask. I think I have a right to see the face of the man who killed my family."

"You have no rights, Patrick. Just as much as you didn't have any when you decided to go to television and talk about me. I killed your family so you would understand that."

"That I had no rights?"

"That you're not special. Not better than anyone. That you _don't_ know everything." There was some emotion in the man's voice as he spoke.

Jane felt his blood boiling inside of him with anger. He chuckled, ironically. "Don't you think you could have just… told me that?"

"You don't listen. You don't think what other people have to say has any value. You think you're the most intelligent in the room, always." He made a pause before speaking again. "But I don't think that bothers you very much right now, does it? You don't even wear your wedding ring anymore."

Hurriedly, Jane reached for his pocket – the ring was still there.

"Is it possible that you've found… another woman?"

Jane just looked in his direction. He had no answer; he didn't want to involve Lisbon in this conversation. They were here, alone, and she was hopefully very far.

"What happened, cat ate your tongue? You don't have any witty remarks? Nothing to tell me about _her_? Well, she cares about you. Anyone can tell that. But do you care about her?"

He approached Jane, who was now looking down.

"Oh, you don't _want_ to talk about her. Don't worry. I know exactly who she is."

Jane looked up, praying that he wasn't going to say something like _she's in the other room_.

"I'd have brought her here," he was saying. "But I decided not to. The truth is, Patrick, I've grown tired of trying to teach you lessons. You just won't learn, will you? You just continue to be the same selfish, arrogant, annoying conman of before. You take pleasure in making fools of other people."

Looking down, Jane remembered how his father had taken advantage of his observation skills to create numerous phony acts. As just the kid that he was, Jane had learned to take pleasure in making people believe he could really see through their minds, through their lives, their loved ones, their future. He had learned to enjoy feeling a thousand light-years more intelligent than a whole crowd who had paid good money just to watch him displaying his talents – which were no more otherworldly than any other mundane abilities any of them might have.

But he wouldn't let Red John prey on his guilt. He should have his own, for that matter, if he was human at any minimal percentage.

"You certainly don't take pleasure in holding people hostage, telling them their life is over, cutting them," he replied dryly.

"You don't understand the importance and the beauty of my work," the other one retorted, and Jane could see there was real pride coming from that utterance.

"I certainly don't. Why don't you explain to me?"

Red John chuckled. "You think all I do is destruction, don't you? Somebody could say that we actually have a lot in common. We both destroy people's lives; only I destroy bodies, while you destroy minds. Now tell me, Patrick, which one is worse? The difference is that, through what I do, people find redemption. And through what _you _do? What do they find? Misery?"

Jane swallowed. "I'm trying to be a better man."

"Well, tell me, who opened your eyes?"

When Jane had realized he had lost his family due to his arrogance while playing his part as a psychic, he had, for the first time, felt like a complete fraud. Only then had he opened his eyes to the deceitful life he had been living, to how many people he had lied to, and whose pains and feelings he had benefited from. He had always told himself that at least he gave them hope that their loved ones continued to live somewhere else, that they continued to love them and take care of them from afar. Hopes that he never had when he became the victim, because he had never believed that his wife and child might be in some unknown part of existence. And to those who had been willing to accept such unlikely possibility, he had given lies for them to feed on. That wasn't fair.

When he had found his wife and child murdered, he had realized how stupid he had actually been in thinking he was the most intelligent person anyone could ever meet. Feeling like the smartest person in the room when he was able to tell a person's life story just by watching their general behavior for a few minutes or claim they were lying with a hundred percent certainty was still a feeling he couldn't exactly avoid in the years that had followed, but he had sworn he would never take advantage of people using those skills again.

"But you just can't change, can you?"

"So you say," Jane replied defensively. "So what happens to me?"

"We'll talk about that later."

Red John turned around and opened the door. Through it, came a blinding light, that made Jane's eyes squint, but as the door was closed it was gone again and he was left all alone in the complete darkness.

* * *

In the next morning, Lisbon arrived early. She had gone home against her will; the team had insisted so much that she had just given up and let Van Pelt drive her. Anyway, she hadn't been able to eat or to sleep, because all she had in her mind was Jane and the fact that his life was in real, imminent danger. Now, she was sitting in her office and feeling useless because she didn't know how to help him and because there was nothing she could do right now.

She saw Cho coming out of the elevator and prayed he was coming her way. And he was. She stood up to wait, but she couldn't so she walked up to the door and opened it. He stopped right in front of her.

"Remember those fifty grand Carter received, probably from Red John?"

"Yes." Her whole body was shaking.

"We didn't notice at the time, but they were withdrawn two days after being received."

"And were you able to find out where they went?"

"Yes. To a hospital in Santa Rosa, but there was no way of knowing why. Then I noticed the discrepancy; a seven-year-old who has a very rare heart disease and wasn't being treated because his mother couldn't afford it started getting treatment on the same day when Carter's money disappeared from his bank account. He did all he could to hide the kid and his mom, but I was able to find out he has once been married to this woman. So the kid is most probably his son."

"Or even if he isn't, he cared enough to go work for Red John just so he could afford treatment for the boy."

"And that's why he wouldn't give us any information; Red John probably knows about the boy."

Lisbon nodded. It all made sense.

"There is one more thing," Cho said. "The kid still needs treatment, but there's no money left."

"We can offer…" Lisbon said, her eyes lighting up.

"Yes. Our leverage."

"Jeez, this is a big crowd," Steve Carter said, at the sight of the four CBI agents. "Why did you bring everyone to visit me, Teresa? Did you guys miss me? What about Mr. Jane, why didn't he come, too?"

As soon as they were locked in with the prisoner, Lisbon started.

"You might as well wipe that smile right off your face. I've got bad news for you."

Carter's smile just widened. "What kind of bad news?"

"News about your son," Cho replied, "or at least your ex-wife's son, we weren't able to determine the fatherhood."

The bald man's face went blank and pale. "I have no son and no ex-wife."

"Bullshit," Rigsby said, raising his voice. "We know you spent fifty grand on treatment for this kid."

Carter answered with silence. On his face, there was fear, for the first time since he had been arrested.

"Alex Witman, son of Brooke Witman?" Lisbon said. "Rings any bells?"

She put a paper on the table for him to look at. "This is his chart from the Santa Rosa hospital. The news is Alex isn't doing so well."

He just seized the paper with his cuffed hands as though seizing a lifebuoy in the middle of a desert sea. He read carefully, and tears appeared in his eyes.

"We broke the guy." Rigsby whispered to Van Pelt, triumphantly, and Lisbon gave him a look that told him not to celebrate prematurely.

She pulled the chair in front of him and sat down.

"We can provide him with the best care possible, for the rest of his life."

Carter raised his eyes, looking at her with a pleading expression.

"All we need is information," she added.


	15. Red Balloon

_**So, this is it. **__**The final chapter, finally. I must confess I'm happy about it, and I hope you all will be as well. It has been a wonderful experience to write this, which is my first Mentalist fic of many more to come, I hope. And I really want to thank everyone who has read, reviewed, favorited, etc, because your feedback has given me the strength to continue when I had the worst blocks, or when I had no time to write, or when I had ideas and time but the text simply didn't come out, or when I so much as contemplated the faintest idea of giving up. Thank you! Enjoy and share with me your thoughts about the ending!**_

15. RED BALLOON

Carter had feared, at first, that if he gave the CBI the information they needed, Red John would take revenge on his son. But Lisbon guaranteed him that the serial killer was not going to escape. And she had meant it, because another failure, similar to what had happened on the Thursday operation, was inconceivable. Thus, she had told Carter there was no reason for him to be afraid; Red John was going to be caught. Even so, she could also guarantee that Alex and Brooke Witman were accepted in the Witness Protection Program if so he wished. With that part decided, he had finally folded and revealed the exact location of Mayfield – so they were now, in that sunny morning, traveling accordingly to his instructions, in a big team, heavily armed.

Lisbon was going to lead. She knew she shouldn't, but she simply couldn't do it any differently. She realized having made Jane stay behind had been what had cost the previous operation; not knowing what was happening had been what had made him rush into the house, unarmed, and cause his own kidnapping. Considering that, she concluded that choosing to stay behind, not knowing what was going on, would only cause her to make similar impulsive decisions in case she thought something bad might have happened.

She had given a lot of thought about what Jane had done; at first she had thought he had willingly given himself away just for the chance of actually meeting Red John in person, seeing it as a chance to finally be able to perform his revenge, but then she recognized that was her fear talking; her fear that he might give in to his addiction and try to take justice into his own hands. She tried to imagine herself staying back, hearing a gunshot and not getting an answer from the radio, and she realized she might have done the same thing, so she wouldn't hold it against him.

Now, with a task in hand, with a plan to execute, she felt strong, as opposed to how lost she had felt while she simply knew Jane was gone and there was nothing she could do. However, she couldn't help feeling scared as hell of what they might find in Mayfield, or of what might happen once they arrived there. But she wasn't the only one to be scared; all the other agents and officers sitting along with her in the back of a van were as afraid as herself, maybe not as much for Jane's life, but for their own lives, for the possibility that Red John _might_ escape, for hundreds of other scenarios each one of them was probably building in their minds at that very moment. Lisbon tried to take more strength from that fact; fear was something everyone came across. Courage was what one needed in order to overcome fear.

Carter had given them all the details about the place, the people they might encounter, and Red John himself. He hadn't given his name, though, because he'd never known what it was, or a physical description, for he had never _seen_ the damned man's face. But he told them details about his crimes and practices that they hadn't been able to gather from the little evidence he had left behind besides the untraceable certainty that those victims belonged to him. Carter had even drawn a map with as much detail as he could recall of the property they were now going to invade. It was a much easier operation to plan having so many details, but nothing could be taken for granted; they had to count on the possibility that Red John considered it possible that Carter would talk, so they might arrive there and find yet another trap.

Lisbon felt it as the van slowly reduced speed and made its stop. The doors were opened and they got off the van, which was one of three vehicles filled with agents and SWAT officers wearing protective garments and heavy weapons. The property looked huge and was surrounded by nature – tall trees, a garden. It looked _nice_. If somebody had said the person who lived – or did whatever the hell – in there was normal, Lisbon would have believed it if she didn't know any better. Carter had said there might be someone guarding the outside, a role he used to play, but there was nobody that they could see.

They were keeping a distance, for Carter had warned them about the surveillance system; there were cameras everywhere, so the first thing to do was to turn them off. But, so as not to tip Red John off, a device had been developed to program the surveillance feed to go on loop – someone just had to install it in the mainframe, whose location Carter had also provided. Van Pelt, who was good around computers and electronic devices, had offered to be the one to do the job. Right now, she was up; her entrance had to be very careful, since the cameras were still on, so she was wearing a green camouflage uniform and literally crawling through the grass, close to the trees, as farther away from the cameras as possible, where they were least likely to pick up her quiet movement. She was approaching the back entrance, which was the closest way to get to the room where the mainframe was kept. Lisbon was holding her breath; it felt almost like it was her little sister in there, but it was close enough, because it was a member of her team in there. Struggling to save another, who happened to be the man she loved. She shrugged those thoughts away; it was no time to think, but to act.

Van Pelt was no longer visible, but at this point there was no way of knowing what was going on; all they knew was that she was _inside_ the damn house and lord knows what she might encounter. The minutes were ticking by. "Come on, Grace," Lisbon heard Rigsby murmur next to her, then echoed his pleas in her mind. _Come on, Grace. _But she had to be radio silent until she reached her goal, so they would have to wait, just like that, hiding, in silence, even though their thoughts were screaming inside their minds. At least Lisbon's were. Her hands were sweating. This wait was _unbearable_.

"Eureka," came her voice through the radio, finally, and Lisbon felt she could breathe again. Until she remembered that they were about to enter the house and couldn't, again, but one step at a time. She had to keep telling herself that to keep from freaking out. One step at a time. Now, with the cameras off, they had to silently surround the house and then quickly enter, covering all parts without tipping off anybody who might be inside. Lisbon thought that Jane was probably one of the people inside. He _had_ to be.

Everyone quietly and slowly got into position. When they were ready, a nod from Lisbon was what made them instantly start rushing through both entrances, as quickly and silently as possible. Not long afterwards, Lisbon heard Cho on the radio. "Found Morgan, got him into custody, heading outside with him." She sighed in relief. One less scumbag to worry about. "Copy that," she answered, moving carefully in the half-light. She had entered through the main entrance, had passed the hall and had now reached what looked like a regular living room; sofas, armchairs, lamps, just like Carter had described it. She guessed Red John needed a "normal" setting for when he had to open his door for the mailman or something. "Kitchen is clear," came Rigsby's voice on the radio. Everything on the first floor seemed "normal", except for the almost imperceptible cameras in every corner. The not-normal part was upstairs.

About upstairs, Carter had described two smaller rooms, one of which was where prisoners, when they had them, were kept, and the other was where Red John's employees of sorts slept, all in the same room, on the floor. Then there was a big room which was Red John's bedroom and temple, so to speak, where he kept tokens and souvenirs of his crimes. Lisbon tried to imagine Red John as a person, who actually had a bedroom where he slept during nights. She couldn't. She was climbing the stairs, with other agents following her. A few of them positioned at the door of the employees' dormitory, as one of them put a key in the lock and turned it. Each agent and officer had an identical set of keys, which had been copied from an original set found in the truck Carter used to drive and which he had identified as being the keys for Mayfield's doors.

The door was opened and the agents moved in, as Lisbon and other agents continued walking through the hallway. Seconds later they heard through the radio that the first room was clear. She suddenly remembered what she had said to Carter at the end of their last conversation, when he had already given them everything he knew. She remembered she had finally managed to see him as a human being, beyond his crimes and her kidnapping. She had sat in front of him and waited for everyone else to leave.

"_Carter, please answer me one more question," she asked, in an almost amicable voice._

"_What, ma'am?" He now treated her as ma'am, or Agent Lisbon; he even looked at her with some shade of respect._

"_You were faking all along, weren't you? You never believed Red John's crap. You didn't follow him as if he was a god-like leader, did you?"_

_It was suddenly important for her to know that._

"_Because it seems to me that you have made a series of mistakes, not mistakes, small slips, maybe unconsciously, actually probably unconsciously, which were what ultimately made it possible for us to come to this chance of catching him."_

_Carter shrugged. "I never meant for him to be caught, I couldn't risk my son's life. All I ever did, I did for my son. I'm not proud. And I'll pay for my crimes."_

_Lisbon nodded, some weird sensation of relief filling her. "Thank you," she said, in a quiet voice, standing up to leave. When she reached the door, though, she turned around again. "When this is all over and Red John is locked up… I can arrange for your son to visit you when he's feeling well enough."_

_Carter's face lit up, and a smile appeared. She nodded, and he nodded back.._

It was time for the prisoner's room, and she couldn't help but wonder if, hadn't she managed to run away first, she would have been brought here. She knew chances were they would find Jane in here, but her gut told her it would be clear. She turned the key, and pushed the door, watching it swing open. It was very dark inside. The agents behind her turned on half a dozen flashlights as they went in, and the only thing they could see inside the room was a comfortable-looking armchair with several chains around it, looking as though they had been holding somebody. "Clear," Lisbon called through the radio, fearing for the meaning of the prisoner's room being empty. She walked out of the room, followed by the agents. She saw Cho, Rigsby and Van Pelt coming up the stairs to join them, while other agents stayed downstairs and around the property. The last place to look was Red John's room; it could be empty, or it could not be empty. They were just about to find out.

If Red John and Jane were there, it would mean the serial killer had really been counting on Carter's loyalty. If they weren't, well, Lisbon didn't want to consider that possibility. That door was also locked; surrounded by the other agents, she turned, with trembling hands, her key on the lock, and pushed the door open. The first thing they could see was an enormous red smiley face painted on the wall. She recalled Jane explaining it once; _you see the face first, and you know, you know what's happened, and you feel dread_.

But the smiley wasn't fresh; also, inside its wider circle were newspaper clippings, pictures, small objects, all related to his crimes, like a giant bulletin board of his achievements. The room was lit by dozens of candles on the floor, and there was no sunlight coming in. Against expectations, it was a white room, almost tastefully decorated, with nice-looking furniture, details that didn't really match the pictures of bodies stabbed to death on the wall. All that information was taken in and thought about during a split second before Lisbon turned her head and saw, beside a big double bed with white covers on top, the figure she was looking for: a tall, blond-haired man, wearing a three-piece suit, without the jacket, sleeves rolled up, his blue eyes looking back at her with no distinguishable emotion. Jane. _Alive_. Then, another split second later she noticed he had a knife to his throat. And that Red John held it, standing behind him.

"Put your guns down, or I will slit his jugular," Red John threatened, with that eerie voice of his, muffled by that stupid mask.

Jane noticed that he tried to convey confidence in his tone, but didn't quite manage; the invasion of his house was undoubtedly something he was never expecting. It had been only a few minutes ago that he had appeared in the room where Jane was, not wearing his usual black gown, but black shirt and pants instead, and had hurriedly freed him from the chains, threatening him with a knife and walking him in the same rush towards that other room, where they had stood, waiting for the invaders to arrive. Red John's undisguised panic had given Jane some faint hope to survive this. _Is it the CBI entering the house? _he had wondered, as he could hear the quiet, hurried sounds coming from downstairs.

Right now, Jane could tell the man didn't really know what to do. And the fact that he was unsure of what to do with a knife to his throat was certainly _not_ a good thing. He noticed, however, that there was no escape for Red John. He was cornered. Killing Jane or not, there was no way out for him. Unless he tried to pull a stunt like the one Morgan had pulled, trying to escape using Jane's life as a bargaining chip, but he strongly doubted that possibility; Red John would know better. For one thing, there were way too many guns pointed at him right now, which meant there were probably at least as many other cops outside, so one of them would end up having a clear shot at Red John if he ever changed the position he was in right now: walking out of this room would be suicide. And besides, maybe Lisbon wouldn't risk his life and would let Red John go, like she had let Morgan, but she wasn't going to be able to convince all those other agents that his life was worth that much. This was Red John.

He took a moment to look at her, all too aware of the knife against his skin, thinking that this might be the last time he saw her, and noticed how she looked strong and courageous, even though her hands and legs were shaking with visible, undeniable fear. He wished once more she didn't care about him, she didn't love him, because he knew too well what would happen to her if Red John cut his throat right now. And seeing the green of her eyes, he wanted to live, he really did, but he had no high hopes about it. He was satisfied, though. Red John was done. It was all over. He had, at long last, fulfilled his purpose.

"Not a chance," Lisbon said, shaking her head slowly, with a surprisingly calm voice. "There is no way that you can escape, so just let him go."

None of the guns had faltered at Red John's threat. Bravo, Jane thought. He felt Red John's grip shudder as he was probably searching for his options in his mind. There weren't many, they all knew. But he seemed to find one, as his body seemed to become less tense.

"Are you just going to watch it as I cut Patrick's throat, Teresa? Because that's what I'm going to do if I don't see all those guns on the floor."

Mind games, Jane thought, of course. He would try and prey on Lisbon's feelings for him. But he watched it as one of the corners of her mouth rose up with a hint of a smile, followed by a triumphant glint in her eyes.

"No, you're not going to do that," she said, now with a wide smile. "He's way too special for you, you can't just slit his throat. Look at that wall."

She waved her head towards the wall opposite to the smiley's, which she had just noticed: it was entirely dedicated to Jane, with newspaper and internet clippings that documented his activity, both before and after his personal tragedy. "You can't kill him like you were simply getting rid of him. You have to kill him in a special way."

Jane admired Lisbon's self control to say those things with such a calm voice, sounding almost friendly, almost as though she comprehended and sympathized with the criminal. _She_ was preying on _his_ emotions now. And it seemed to be working, because Red John's demeanor seemed to be devoid of confidence right now. He knew, and so did she, that this was the most dangerous moment, when the man could do practically anything; still, it was the moment when he was most likely to make a mistake or lower his guard. Lisbon was counting on it.

Her eyes suddenly came across a photo frame on the nightstand beside the bed, opposite to where the two stood, and saw clearly the picture of a woman holding a toddler, who, in turn, held the string of a red balloon, with a white smiley face on it.

"What are you looking at?" he suddenly asked, his voice showing faint signs of lack of control, probably knowing exactly what she was looking at.

"Is that your mother?" she asked, trying to lay some sweetness on her voice. "She looks lovely."

"Don't look at her," he demanded, sounding like he was trying to control his voice.

"What's that?" she was looking directly at the picture, squinting. "There's something dripping from the frame, staining the picture. Is that blood?"

And in the milliseconds that followed, Lisbon saw it as Red John's knife wavered against Jane's throat, as he was probably trying to decide whether to turn his head to look at the picture or not, and Lisbon recognized her chance of ending this for good: praying that she was aiming right, she pulled the trigger.

Jane jumped as he heard the sound of the bullet breaking the plastic of Red John's mask, and during the next second, the man fell behind him, the sound of the knife hitting the ground coming not long before the sound of his body. And then, no sounds could be heard for quite a few moments, as all the people present acknowledged what had just happened.

Lisbon felt her arms jerk on their own, probably an effect of the position, or the tension, or the impact, and let both of them fall to her sides, feeling her muscles involuntarily relaxing and everything else in her mind disappearing as she contemplated Red John's body on the floor. She watched it as though it were in slow motion: Cho walked up to where the body lay, kneeled down, removed the mask and checked the man's neck for a pulse. He turned around. "He's dead."

_He's dead_, echoed in Lisbon's mind. The other agents had started moving, walking around, making calls, leaving the room. But she stood there, in the same position, and so did Jane. He stared blankly at the body on the floor. She suddenly found out she couldn't look at him, even though she saw it, at the corner of her eye, when he fell on his knees and started sobbing like a child. She couldn't look at him because she thought there was a real chance he might hate her for killing Red John.

Despite all his attempts at resisting his urges for revenge, they were still very strong, and the two of them never had, after all, agreed about why Lisbon would have a right to kill Red John when he wouldn't. So she wouldn't even blame him for hating her; it was a choice she couldn't have made differently. If that would cost what they had, then so be it, because she was relieved enough that he was alive and that he hadn't become a murderer. She couldn't take it anymore – the sound of his crying was ripping her soul apart, so she turned around and left, containing her own tears, figuring she could at least give him that moment. She silently signaled for the remaining agents in the room to follow her.

As soon as she reached the hallway, though, it was her turn to start sobbing uncontrollably. She felt an indefinable relief as she realized that Red John no longer existed. She could barely dare to accept the meaning of those words, together in a sentence, as true. And Jane was alive. He was alive. That was all that mattered. If he would hate her for stealing his revenge from him, she could live with that. What she knew she couldn't live with was the image of his throat being cut right in front of her. And she smiled through her tears, because she wouldn't have to. Cho was approaching her, some emotion that looked like pride apparent in his expression, offering both arms to support her as she walked limply down the stairs, barely noticing her surroundings.

Jane noticed he was suddenly alone with Red John's body. There was a heavy silence surrounding them. He was crying, and he couldn't stop. He didn't know why. He looked at the face, finally revealed behind the mask. A common face, that could belong to the harmless neighbor next door; mid-to-late-thirties, dark hair, fair skin, simple features. Jane had always thought that, once he saw the man's face, that he would be able to finally canalize all that hatred he had felt for an unknown entity for so long. But he had been wrong. Looking at the man's lifeless expression, now, with a bullet hole on his forehead, he only felt sadness. He felt sad about what might have happened to the little boy holding a red balloon, what might have lead him here, where he lay, dead. He felt sad about all that man had done, about all the families and lives he had destroyed, including his lovely wife, his innocent daughter, his whole world.

He felt sad at the sight of that ordinary man, whom he had never seen before, but whom he had lived for, during so many years.

And he felt no hatred. In fact, for the first time in so long, he felt his heart was free of hatred. He touched the round shape of his wedding ring, inside his pocket.

Jane stood up, taking a deep breath, sobs now under control, even though tears continued to roll down his face. He walked slowly away from the body, not taking his eyes off of it until he reached his destination: the smiley wall. He looked at all those pictures of murdered people and imagined all those families, and the relief they'd feel once they heard Red John was dead. He revisited the sentence in his mind. _Red John is dead._ And he suddenly realized, despite all his addictive urges for revenge, that it didn't matter if he hadn't killed him; he was dead. He was no longer out there, laughing at how untouchable he was while he continued killing innocent people.

And also despite his addiction, he was surprised to find out he didn't take any pleasure in Red John's death. All he felt was sadness and relief. There was no way in taking _pleasure_ in anybody's death, he guessed, unless you were a murderer. Which he wasn't, and hadn't become, thanks to Lisbon. She had killed Red John, but only to save his life, like she had said. And she had saved his life, in so many more ways than one. Where in hell was she? He needed to see her. He needed to hold her in his arms, now that it was all over. He wiped his tears, which had now stopped forming in his eyes.

He walked out of that room, in a sudden need to see the outside world. At the sight of him leaving, agents and officers and forensic specialists who had now arrived started to move in. On his way out, he met his colleagues, and quietly smiled back as he received a reassuring nod from Van Pelt, a pat on the back from Rigsby and a "Glad you're all right" from Cho. He continued walking, looking for her in the middle of the crowd. After a few moments, he found her curled up in the passenger seat of one of the cars, with the door open, leaning the side of her face against the headrest.

He stopped there in front of her, and she looked up at him, eyes red as though she had been crying. He just smiled, because he couldn't believe he was looking at her. Her eyes watered in response. He took a step forward, reached for her hands and pulled her up to her feet and into his embrace. "Jane," she murmured, crying, clutching at him as though to survive. He squeezed her, as tight as he could, and felt tears rolling down his face again as well.

"You don't hate me?" she asked, her voice muffled by her tears and the closeness to his chest.

"Hate you?" he smiled through tears. "You saved me."

* * *

The birds sang gleefully in the background, probably unaware of the fact that they were flying over a cemetery, a place where nobody and nothing was supposed to be gleeful. Let them live in their blissful ignorance, Jane thought, as he lay flowers at his deceased wife's and child's headstones. He had never liked to come here, because he had never believed that it would make any difference for them whether he visited their graves or not; he had never believed anything he did would make any difference for them.

It had been Lisbon who had told him that, if he couldn't find a reason to believe they could benefit from his visit, then maybe he could find a reason to believe _he _could. She had told him she would sometimes visit her parents' graves when she needed advice, not because she believed she would hear anything in response, but because it was comforting for her to be there, in a place where she could remember them, and because whatever she said to them, even if it didn't really reach their souls or spirits or whatever, it reached _her_, in her heart, as she said it.

He guessed, though, that if what he was going to say was supposed to reach his wife and child in some otherworldly dimension, or himself, right here, thinking was enough; he didn't necessarily had to speak up. What he wanted them to know was that the world was free of their murderer, and that he didn't have that blood on his hands. He hadn't let that hatred turn him into a killer as well, and that was all thanks to Teresa Lisbon, whom he would have loved to have them meet, because she was an extraordinary person, above everything.

In other times, he wouldn't have accepted how she could kill someone and be considered a hero while, if he did the same thing, he'd be considered a murderer, but he had finally come to that understanding. She had only shot Red John in order to save his life, and, if she hadn't done it, he'd most likely be dead. And _that_ was why she was a hero; she hadn't pulled the trigger to end a life, but to save one. And he wasn't the only one who thought of her as a hero; the state of California had conceded her that status as well as a medal of honor for her outstanding work as head of her unit in the solution of the Red John case, as well as the salvation of the last life the murderer had intended to take. She had modestly received it, visibly uncomfortable at the spotlight, but happy, later, to receive the proud congratulations of the people who mattered to her.

Steve Carter had provided the names of all the people whom he had known to be involved with Red John, and, along one of those six months which had passed since the serial killer's death, all of them had been arrested and were waiting, in custody, like Carter and Joseph Morgan, for their trials. They had been able to find out not only Red John's name, but also everything about his life, but as much as Jane had always wanted to uncover those details, he had decided that now he didn't really care to know. That chapter of his life had ended; it hadn't ended with his revenge, but with the relief of justice having been done, not only to him and his family, but to all of Red John's other victims.

Not everything was perfect, though. He was still learning to deal with the guilt he still felt for his past wrongdoings and their ultimate consequence, and that pain, he guessed, was something he could never be rid of, even though the last six months had been better at healing his wounds than the prior several years. He would always imagine what his child would have grown to be like, and what contemplating her growth beside his wife would have felt like, and that was an irreplaceable piece that had been taken from him. He could find all the happiness in the world and he would still have that tingle of pain in his heart. But didn't everyone have that for any loved ones lost along the way?

As for the new chapter in his life, well, it wasn't so new; after the end of the Red John case, he had decided to continue working with the CBI. He had told Lisbon, who was still his boss, that he knew the team _needed_ him and that he was too good at solving crimes to give up such a talent, just for the pleasure of witnessing her annoyance, but had also admitted he liked the job, enjoyed the puzzles and certainly appreciated the company of the team. No reason to leave, had been the conclusion he had reached.

Jane stood up, looking one last time at the headstones. It wasn't and would never be a cheerful sight, but he knew he had felt way worse during other visits. He decided, as he turned to leave, that he would come more often in the future. He started to walk away, sincerely hoping that Angela and little Charlotte really _were_ somewhere else, where they could see the man he had started and was still struggling to become.

Even though he still had his little faults, he thought, amused at how just the sight of Lisbon waiting for him inside the car already had him thinking about new ways of irritating her just enough to make him laugh, until she lost her temper with him and he switched to trying to conquer her back, in their sweet, daily cycle. Jane touched the little box inside his pocket as he walked, thinking about how he had bought the ring two weeks before, but hadn't yet told a single soul about it because he hadn't yet finished planning the most irritating proposal ever heard of. Well, maybe now he had just told two souls, wherever they might be.


End file.
